


Veneficus

by Fluidfyre



Series: In the Footsteps of Neria Surana [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, F/M, Fantasy, Female Protagonist, Loss of Virginity, Love, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 120,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluidfyre/pseuds/Fluidfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based within Dragon Age: Origins, it follows Neria Surana, the elven mage, from her recruitment in the Circle tower through the slaying of the archdemon. She discovers something unlikely amidst all the blood, suffering and toil - something she never sought, and never imagined. Can a Grey Warden afford to love? Or must it be sacrificed like so much to stop the Blight? Through it all, she becomes more than she thought possible, but like everything in life, this journey leaves its marks on her soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recruitment

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is not strictly canon, I've tried to just use my memory to work through important plot points - some dialogue just stands out as being great, and needed to end up in here, but usually I wrote it how I remember it (rather than how it might be?).
> 
> The tale of a bookish elven mage, raised in the seclusion of the Tower of Magi, exposed to the world and becoming a soldier, a commander and leader through necessity in order to save the world from the Blight and live up to the moniker she has embraced - the Grey Warden. Through pestilence, ice, war, and the ravaging taint upon the land, she strives to find a way to reconcile her ignorance of the real world, and the pariah her nature is made into by it.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: That being said, this is my spoiler warning for Dragon Age:Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, as well as the two books by Gaider, The Calling and The Stolen Throne. I use information from all of them in contributing to this.
> 
> Dragon Age is the property of Bioware, I make no profit from this, I just love the universe(s) they and their writers think up, and can't help but get sucked into them in my imagination!

"Of course, First Enchanter." Neria Surana gave a little bow and motioned for the Grey Warden to follow her.

"I hear a congratulations are in order?" Duncan clasped his hands behind him and looked down to the young elf beside him.

Tucking her snowy hair behind an elongated ear, Neria's cheeks delicately flushed, "Oh - thank you, ser. I am glad it's over with. Just another mage in the Tower now."

"Do not discount the merit demonstrated in surviving the Harrowing," Duncan strode slowly beside her through the hall, "There are many who do not have the strength to even face it - let alone the sheer will to command themselves through it."

"That is kind of you to say."

"How do you find life here in the Tower?"

Pensive, Neria kept her eyes down as she replied, "It is all I have ever known. I can barely remember anything before it."

"The First Enchanter mentioned you came from an alienage."

Cheeks aflame, Neria blurted, "He was talking about me?"

Duncan lightly laughed and raised a hand, "Only the highest of praise, I assure you. He said you made it through your Harrowing in record time." They walked a few more paces, "I am always curious of the lives of elves. Are you treated equally here?"

Though a thousand remarks filled her sharp mind, Neria cast Duncan a sideways glance and observed, "I am a mage... that will only ever afford me so much equality."

"Sadly true." The gentleman grumbled in his own way, his voice lower as he said, "I have never agreed with the methods the Chantry employs. Especially now, when we may be on the cusp of a Blight." Duncan sighed, "I apologize."

Neria shook her head, watching the man, "No, please - I have read a little about such things. I would love to know more."

Taken by the young woman's enthusiasm, Duncan inclined his head and continued, "The king rallies an army at Ostagar, on the northern edge of the Korcari Wilds." Neria nodded and he continued, "There, a great darkspawn horde has been amassing. The Grey Wardens fear they may be doing so at the behest of an archdemon."

"Darkspawn... they are what clog the Deep Roads and plague the once dwarven thaigs?"

Duncan's lips parted in a smile as they reached his room, and he regarded the young elf, "Yes. Though sometimes they come topside in small raiding bands." His smile faded, replaced by the weight of his knowledge, "Historically, they only come to the surface in such numbers when driven by an archdemon ."

"That doesn't sound very good for Ferelden." Neria stopped and said, "I'm sorry, good ser - I'm wasting your time with my curiosities."

Duncan shook his head, smile in his eyes as he said, "Not at all, miss. I am glad to address any questions of yours."

"You are too kind. It is rare that I've been allowed to speak with anyone who doesn't spend their lives in the Tower. Even the templars are stationed here at length."

"I can only imagine." Duncan motioned towards the table nearby, "My meetings do not resume till morning if you'd care to join me for food and drink. I would gladly continue our discussion."

Some time later when the elf had left his company, Duncan found himself reflecting back to his early days as a Warden, when he had first visited the Ferelden Circle of Magi. He had always harboured something for the peculiar tendencies of mages, offering sympathy for their persecution.

Neria also reminded him of another elven mage that he had known then, a friend and ally separate from the would-be seducer. It reminded him of the letter he needed to post before sweeping back towards Ostagar. The letter he had been delaying sending for some time.

* * *

Spinning down the hall, Neria realized she had imbibed far too much wine - when truthfully, anything would have been too much for. She had always kept away from the contraband other apprentices smuggled in, wishing to keep her mind clear for her studies and practise.

And now it had paid off - who else in the entire Tower had spent the night conversing with a famed Grey Warden! She had once found some scrolls she knew she, nor any others, were probably supposed to see. Things had always been tumultuous in the tower, but Duncan himself had been here when the late king and the Hero of River Dane had reclaimed it from deviant Orlesians.

To think he had spoke of it too! She had surprised him with her knowledge of history. Catching others off-guard with her scholastic aptitude was one of Neria's most favoured activities.

It was clear he had seen and experienced more than she would ever know in her life ferreted away in the Tower. Even if she did make it into the world to attend the College or work in Denerim, what could she possibly expect to happen in her life?

Neria had sapped up the stories the Warden had of the outside world, of his travels far and wide. As if the adventures weren't enough to satisfy, that voice! The rich, knowledgeable accent that carried so much.

Turning down the quiet hall, Neria giggled slightly to herself. Such was her fantasy, truly! First Cullen, and now the bearded, muscular Grey Warden who was old enough to be her -

"Cullen! I - I mean, good ser, I am sorry." The young elf stammered and blushed as she practically ran into the tall templar.

"It is alright, m'lady." Cullen smiled quickly and stepped back, looking the elf over. "I-I'm glad to see your Harrowing went well. Glad to um, see you're all right."

Cullen, the dashing templar Neria fancied since she could first remember noticing men weren't too terrible to look at. She remembered when he'd been transferred to the Tower, a man when all her companions were boys. Fiery facial hair and short, wiry locks, he had always been kind to her, when many of the templars were cold and derisive.

Perhaps things would improve now that she'd passed her Harrowing – now that she'd proven her mettle.

"I am, thank you ser." Neria couldn't help but smile when she may have otherwise been tight-lipped, were she sober.

There was something off about the woman, Cullen thought, her usual cool demeanour given way. "You're ah... out in the halls a bit late."

The nights he had dreamed of her, of the quiet words she offered him and the way her eyes creased at their small talk. He had made her laugh a few times, often quoting some text he had read as a boy in the Chantry in a self-depreciating way. She had a softer side that she kept hidden beneath her studious veneer. Being one of the very few female elves made her a beauty in the Tower, and it had been clear since she was in her early teens she much preferred people to ignore it in favour of her intellect.

Cullen could recall some months ago when her friend – Jowan, that was it, the one whose order to become Tranquil just came through, the man made him uneasy – had been teasing her about another elf apprentice who had been talking to him about her. Neria had cut him down with sharp, cold wit. She took care of her appearance, and the snowy hue of her hair, even her eyes, coupled with how she brushed off the advances of the other apprentices and her fascination with frost magic's, had earned her the nickname of 'ice queen'.

That frigid moniker was nowhere to be found at the moment.

"Did you know there's a Grey Warden here?" Neria asked as she looked around, before stepping closer to him. "He was telling me all about the impending war with the darkspawn. It was fascinating!"

Allowing himself a small smile, Cullen replied, "Aye m'lady, some of the templars went with the mages that were summoned to aid the king."

"Can you imagine that? Seeing so much of the world, even just on the way there!" Neria's dilated eyes drifted, and one of her hands fell on his chest to steady herself. "Suppose I will have to be satisfied with stories."

For a moment, the templar felt a twinge of pity for the elven mage, knowing her life had and would be spent in the confines of the Tower, scrutinized and under lock and key. But as much as he may feel sorry for her, Cullen would never deny its necessity. She may not have asked to be a mage, but she was, and for the betterment of the world, here she would stay.

Maker protect her from temptation that he would never have to cut her down.

Cullen cleared his throat, eyes down to the hand on his chest. Neria bit her lip, and it stirred the physical draw in his gut as she looked up to him.

"Before I was stationed in the Tower, my duty took me to some of the more wild lands of Ferelden."

"Perhaps you would regale me with tales some time, ser?"

The templar imagined the newly initiated mage would not wish to hear of the apostates and maleficarum whose lives ended in his travels – even if by his duty, he should speak of it as a warning to her. He made an unsure sound.

Bolstered by the wine warm in her, Neria flushed more darkly as she said, "Perhaps you'd rather show me? It is late, I'm certain we could find somewhere private?"

Sweet Andraste, was she...no, no... him of all people! Like a vision from a dream.

"I – if you're saying... oh I couldn't... I have patrols I m-must attend to... I should go."

Fleeing at the offer was all Cullen could do, leaving Neria standing alone in the hallway. The mage sighed and leant on the wall as she realized what she'd said. She hoped the coming weeks would bring an end to the isolation she'd felt growing up. The real mages in the Circle seemed to appreciate her studious nature. It was hard to find those willing to give time to an elf, let alone anyone worthwhile.

Moving down the stairs, Neria turned at a familiar sound.

"Whaaat?" She whispered.

"Do you know how much trouble I could get in? I've been waiting for you for an hour."

Relaxing, Neria looked to the shadows where Jowan was, her elven eyes picking him out. "Well I'm a mage now, I can't always be going down to fraternize with the apprentices. Besides, you like getting yourself in trouble."

"Very funny," Jowan crossed his arms and she grinned.

"I can be when the mood strikes."

"Believe me, I know." Jowan gave her a quick hug, "I'm just glad you're alright. What did they make you do? They told me you were in the infirmary well into the afternoon. Apparently some never even come back!"

"You know I can't talk about it, Jowan..."

The young man looked down the hall nervously, "I know, it's just I'm older than you, and I've yet to go through my Harrowing."

"They'll call on you soon enough," Neria quietly said, shivering at the memory of the Fade. Her studies couldn't have prepared her for the reality of it. She would give anything to be able to tell her childhood friend what awaited, that she might ease his burden.

But what if her telling him impacted the ritual or affected his will somehow? Being the cause of his death at the templar's hands would be much worse.  
"You're more right than you think." Jowan's eyes grew distant.

"Oh?"

"I was told that the First Enchanter..."

"Told you what, Jowan?"

"They're going to make me Tranquil, Neria. They think I'm a threat. Unstable or something."

The elf clasped a hand over her mouth, sobered from her woozy state by his words. Recovering a little, she put the hand on his arm, "That can't be, you're capable and a good person."

"I had suspected it before, what with how long I've been an apprentice." Jowan turned away, his hands animated, "But I can't – I just can't become that. Not not, not with..."

Neria looked down the hall as they heard the templar patrol.

"Meet me in the sanctuary tomorrow after midday? I need your help."

"I – all right. Go."

As Jowan disappeared into the stairwell, Neria strode out to intercept the guard and ensure her friend's escape.

* * *

How was she getting pulled into this – why would he even ask her? Jowan of all people should know how uncomfortable it would make her.

Neria stood outside the chapel in a bit of a haze.

The man was in love with one of the Chantry initiates. Even if he weren't an apprenticed mage, that would have consequences itself! It seemed to her that love made a person do ridiculous things. Life was complicated enough without trying to add someone else to the equation.  
Was it her place to question any of it? Destroying his phylactery to help them escape – what would become of her? She could go... no, no she couldn't go with them! She had overheard the templars talking of their hunts more than once, the mages they killed – apostates. Dangerous individuals that were disposed of for everyone's better. If they failed, it would be worse than if Jowan were made Tranquil – if they spared him.

Was she willing to die just for the chance that Jowan might escape with Lily – that they might evade the templars long enough? Even if they didn't kill her, the ridicule of recapture, the shame, the loss of trust she'd earned.

Neria could still remember the only time she'd slipped up and how swiftly the templars had reacted. She had been a little girl, new to the Tower and to her own burgeoning power. The area had been swept, cleansed of magic, and it felt like the air and life had been sucked from her.

Shivering, Neria wrapped her arms around herself, straightening her back as she saw a young apprentice she knew coming round the bend in the hall.

Jowan would have never known about the rite if it weren't for Lily. How could he be with her?

Maker's mercy, and Cullen... somewhere in the fog of her dancing mind she remembered scaring the templar off the night before. She had drunk far too much. Her cheeks burned and she strode away from the oncoming apprentice.

She had to speak with him, she had always been able to approach the First Enchanter. He had taken an interest in her tutelage years ago, he was kindly and firm. Neria knew others found him stuffy and strict, but that was the structure she appreciated, and knew the direction had strengthened her as a mage and scholar.

In Irving's private offices, the young mage fell under his questioning, and the truth spilled out when he indicated the templars had knowledge of Jowan's dallying with blood magic. It seemed her childhood friend had been keeping more from her than the illicit relationship with the sister, and now they would be a pawn for the biting politics that volleyed between the Circle and the Chantry.

"How did you know of this plan? Do they trust you?"

It seemed like there was no way out. She had passed the point she could simply let them try and escape on their own. Neria scarce realized she was speaking.

"Yes, First Enchanter." She was small, she was doing as she was told, she was doing what was best.

If that were the case, why did she feel so ill?

Irving continued to speak of the evidence found, of what was to come. The First Enchanter had no reason to lie or falsify stories – and even if... if the templars killed mages... they wouldn't fabricate Jowan studying blood magic. That stupid, stupid man.

"Oh Maker," Neria put her hands over her mouth, closing her eyes.

"My child, are you all right?"

She was a full mage now. She had responsibility and duty. She had to grow up.

"Yes, ser. Just tell me what you wish me to do."

* * *

Hurrying up the steps behind Jowan, Cullen's betrayed eyes were the first thing Neria saw. A troupe of templars and the First Enchanter were waiting for them. The bottom fell out of her stomach.

"Sister... what is the meaning of this?"

"Knight-Commander, I –"

"And you! Neria, of all people, newly made a mage, I thought you had better sense..."

Neria cringed back against the statue flanking the left side of the cellar door, "I –"

"She was acting on my behalf, Gregoire."

"What? Neria – Neria is that true?" Jowan looked at her, and his crushed expression one that would haunt her. "How could you?"

She had betrayed him. She had set her closest friend into a trap.

"They – they said they found you studying blood magic, Jowan."

"What? No – I – Lily," he turned to the woman whose hand he held. "I just wanted to be able to love you."

"Take them. Jowan, your tranquillity rite will be pushed forward. But Lily... breaking your vows and abetting a known blood mage will land you in Aeonar. Quincy," the Knight-Commander motioned to her with his order.

"Th-the mage's prison?" Lily rasped, paling.

"No! I won't let you touch her!" Jowan produced a knife from his belt and gouged his hand open. The blood spilt and magnified at his feet, sluicing and coming alive at the utterance on his tongue. The impact of force staggered the templars, throwing all of them to the ground.

"Come on, Lily – this is our chance!"

"Jowan – you... you're a blood mage!" Lily cried, her eyes already glistening with tears, "You lied to me." When he reached for her again, she recoiled, eyes blinking dry and heart shattered, "Blood magic is evil, Jowan - Stay away from me!"

He left a bloody haze in his wake, the ground spattered with gore. Neria looked down as she scrambled up. Blood on her robes. He was a blood mage. She should feel better, she had always gotten satisfaction when she was right and Jowan was wrong. But she would never see him again. If the templars found him, would he be brought back? Or would he resist and die, with his love locked away in Aeonar? What else was he capable of?

"You've forsaken your vows to the Maker, Lily."

"I will not resist, ser," she whispered, immobilized with shock, when freedom and the ideal of love had been so close.

The templar's helmeted gaze rest on Neria as she drew her hands into her robes. They were talking, she could make out the words, but she couldn't take her eyes off the blood. She had never seen so much of it in her life.

Pulling to her senses, she knelt to help the First Enchanter to his feet.

"She was assisted them under my orders, Gregoire. She played no part in their plan and had no intention of leaving the Tower. It is because of her that the blood mage and sister were exposed."

"Yes, and now that same mage has escaped, and we are without a phylactery to track him! This will not go unpunished."

"Perhaps the Chantry needs to keep matters of rites and security more tight-lipped?" The First Enchanter beckoned to Neria, and she moved under his wing, the soaked hem of her robes leaving a broken trail of blood behind.

Blood, there was so much blood. She would have thought she'd faint or retch, but she felt cold, she felt hard. She was the ice queen.  
Clearing from the hall, Irving spoke of his pride in her execution of such a trying situation. It was only as the Grey Warden approached that Neria felt her thoughts move from the bog they were sunk in.

"A difficult but necessary role that you fulfilled, miss."

"Thank you, ser." Neria inclined her head, the look passed between Duncan and Irving almost missed by the woman.

"This only reinforces my request, Irving. She is able to do what she must under duress."

The First Enchanter sighed and nodded, drawing Neria's gaze, "My child, as you know, Duncan came to the Circle seeking a recruit for the Grey Wardens."

Icy eyes veiled by pale lashes, Neria said, "Me? You wish me to join the Grey Wardens?"

"A mage can make all the difference in battle, cutting enemies down and sustaining allies. Irving has told me of your prowess as an apprentice – even as young as you are – and of your studies as a healer too. I have seen your intellect myself first hand." Duncan's expression lightened only a moment, "Seeing how you handled the unfortunate incident with the blood mage only strengthens my resolve to have you as my recruit.

"While I would prefer you be allowed to join voluntarily, I am able to conscript you if need be."

Neria looked to the First Enchanter, pursing her lips closed to conceal her surprise.

"It is your choice, child. I can think of few others as capable to take up the mantle. And if you stay, there will... undoubtedly be repercussions to what happened today."

Jowan was gone, and it would be no time before everyone knew what had happened. It might be better being no longer being an apprentice, but how could she know? Gossip had always been a bothersome thing to Neria, but confinement always contributed to its virulence. And the templars – if the Knight-Commander was that angry, how would the others treat her? Gregoire was moderate to some by comparison. She would feel the strain of what happened.

More simply than that, she was a mage. This was an opportunity for freedom the likes of which she would never see again. Even if she died in the war, it seemed to Neria that being out in the world a few short weeks might mean more than a lifetime in the Tower.

Even if the Tower was her home. It was the only thing she'd ever known, she rarely begrudged her life there. She was fed, clothed, sheltered, and educated – she knew as an elf, especially an elf, it was better than most people had. She had those who smiled at her successes, encouraged her, even if her friends were few.

Neria wanted to smell the woods and feel a gale. Something tightened in her chest as she found her fragile voice, "I would be honoured to join the Grey Wardens, ser."

"Then you have the night to prepare. We depart for Ostagar at dawn."

Hands crossing over his chest, Duncan bowed to Irving, and Neria returned the gesture. The First Enchanter's hand found her shoulder as she watched the Warden walk away.

"Take this time to say your farewells. I will prepare you a pack for your travels."

Neria hadn't even had time to move her things from the apprentice quarters. Down by her trunk in the dormitory, she went through her meagre possessions, the books she favoured needing to be returned to the library, and the journal she kept. It was the only thing she'd bring. It and another blank book or two, parchment. She would be able to draw so much more now.

It was their leisure time after the evening meal, so the dorm was mostly empty. Her name echoed through the hall as another elf burst in the door. He ran over to her and put a hand on either of the bunks to block where she sat.

"Neria – is it true? The hall was buzzing at supper!"

Neria ran a hand over the leather journal before putting it aside, "It depends on what you've heard?"

"That Jowan's a blood mage - that he escaped, and now you've been recruited into the Grey Wardens for helping expose him?"

The woman cringed, looking into her lap as her cheeks flushed, "That... was not the only reason, Romel."

"But it's true," he gaped.

"I leave in the morning with the Warden. I... doubt I will ever be back." Neria laughed oddly, "If I survive the war. I'm going to war. I've never been outside this Tower that I can remember, and I'm going to war." She put her hands over her face.

The bed sunk with weight and she felt a hand on her thigh. Her fingers spreading, Neria looked at Romel. He had flaxen hair with ruddy undertones. His nose was almost too big, but it suited him, and he had golden eyes. And he had beautiful ears, even if he wasn't the best apprentice, she had tried to appreciate their kinship.

"I'll get to see the world, right?"

Romel nodded and kept looking at her as her pale cheeks flushed, and she gathered her journals together again.

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever known, Neria. I wanted to see you before you left."

"What - me?" She scoffed and made a nervous click, "I rarely gave you the time of day, even though we're some of the only elven apprentices - well, were..."

Romel leaned more closely, his hand creeping up her thigh as he did, "I know. And Jowan's not around anymore."

Neria scooted up the bed as she rationalized, "Jowan? I never liked him that way - honestly, I should g-go say goodbye to -"

Her words cut away as he caught her and kissed her. Neria tensed in surprise, her cheeks warming rose before she tugged away, nearly falling back on the bed. She knocked her books off as she scrambled to her feet.

"Ehm I - I am flattered, truly." Neria stooped to gather her books, her voice airy to conceal the distress, "I wish you the best, Romel."

The elf sat and licked his lips as Neria scattered, unable to keep from grinning at his conquest.

Books, books, would keep her from seeming an open invite, right? Neria shook her head, regaining her demeanour as she dropped off the books to the library and gratefully accepted the librarian's praise.

Maker, word spread faster than a plague.

Turning out of the library, she saw one of the few people she wanted to, and scurried towards his post. She could see the nervous furrow on his brow as she came closer.

"Cullen - ah, please, don't run off?" Neria smiled as politely as she could, "I wanted to see you before I go."

His expression clouded.

"Just see - a-and apologize for being out of line the other night. I'd had a bit much wine."

"Oh... ah." Cullen clasped his hands together behind him, eyes averted. "It is alright, m'lady. It-it was flattering but -"

"I'm leaving in the morning. Or does gossip not get to templars as quickly as mages."

"What?"

Neria tried to relax her shoulders, looking up to the older man. "Well, Duncan, the Grey Warden... has recruited me."

"Really? I - um... that's great to hear. Is it?" His stomach flipped as he looked down at her flowering smile.

All these years he had watched her, seen her blossom into a beautiful woman, admired her what he could. Life might be easier without her presence, the impossible dreams of a normal life could be released.

"I suppose," Neria said with a close-lipped smile, "I'll get to see from here all the way to Ostagar - and who knows where else."

If I survive.

She might not survive, Cullen realized, and his expression gave him away as he said, "Oh..."

"Thank you for always being so kind, ser."

"Well... you get what you received, r-right? I'm just... well I don't know if anyone er, ever said but I.. I was given the job of... ending it if you became an abomination during your Harrowing."

"You...would you have?"

Cullen blinked and his head twitched, almost blushing, "I mean, yes it would have been my duty - but I would have felt terribly about it. I... I'm glad it didn't come to that, tha - that's what I mean... and that you will get to... see the world."

"I'm glad too..."

The templar shifted his weight, looking at her as he added, "And I was... glad to hear you weren't helping Jowan." Cullen's expression hardened, "That he got away... that an initiate was involved with him..."

"Right, yes." Neria replied, looking down.

"You did the right thing. Blood magic is evil. Maker help us, it was how Tevinter enslaved many of the elves and so much more."

"You know about that?"

"Of course I do," Cullen found his voice when he spoke of history and the Chantry - it was his confidence, his faith, "This redeems - fighting the darkspawn, killing those who corrupted the Golden City..."

Neria's eyes almost glazed as she felt more of her childhood slip away. No matter how his eyes had tracked her, no matter the indefatigable flutter he rose in her stomach, she would always be a mage, and he a templar. He was still speaking of his faith when he noticed her gaze.

"Ehm... s-sorry, you probably have a lot of people to see."

The mage gave a respectful nod, reaching to touch his breastplate, "I hope life treats you well, ser."

"Maker watch over you, Neria."

Her smile was genuine, and in an impulsive moment, Neria rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. It rooted Cullen to the floor, his blush far surpassing her own as she walked away. His breath finally escaped as he realized, thank the Maker, no one saw.


	2. Onward to War

Across Lake Calenhad, Neria could see a massive storm cloud flanking the only place she could lucidly recall as home. There was a cold breeze flowing out from the piling clouds, and her studies told her they were in the excess of the storm. It was pulling air from somewhere else to fuel it.

The water rippled and buoyed the boat as Kester rowed, and Neria gripped the side with white knuckles, swallowing the nausea that was rising as the waters grew choppier. Even if it made her ill, it was the experience she revelled in.

"How's it feel?" Kester grinned at her as she put her face into the wind, white hair whipping back from her cheeks.

"Wonderful!" Neria smiled at him, the wind drying her teeth and forcing her to close her lips. There was spray off the lake forcing her to blink rapidly as it threatened on her eyelashes. She wiped a palm over her brow.

Duncan merely chuckled , leaning towards her so she might hear him, "Hopefully we can keep ahead of the storm."

Stepping off the boat on rubbery legs, Neria stopped and looked back across the undulating waters at the dark spire. It seemed ominous, the ancient architecture framed by the increasingly organized clouds, a shelf defined over which mammatus rose like a lion's paw, high into the sky. Farther down the lake, a flicker of lightning blipped, still silenced by the distance.

"Neria?" Duncan almost reached for her, and she nodded to him before looking at the tower once more.

Kinloch Hold. The Tower of the Circle of Magi. Goodbye home.

Stopping at the inn for extra rations, Duncan instructed her on the necessity of maintaining supplies, stocking with extra casks for water and ensuring their leathery, dried meat and hardtack were packed tight. The enchanter had given her a few silvers, and she had some she'd found in Jowan's chest that were spent.

"We will follow the Imperial Highway south along the lake. We should be able to reach the narrows by tomorrow evening. There is a town there where we will resupply before cutting through the Hinterlands." Duncan spoke as they walked in the shadow of the broken Tevinter aqueduct that followed the highway. "After, we will push into the wilds and onward to Ostagar. It will take a week at the most."

Neria listened attentively, even as her eyes wandered to take in the sights of the day. The wind had followed them up through the floodplain, shaking the aspen and filling the air with a delightful shudder of sound. The trees swayed in time with the tug of her robe, and of the sash on Duncan's waist.

Duncan spoke about the lands as they walked, grinning at her voracious appetite for knowledge and her willingness to apply what had only been read or seen in books to the real world. Soon enough she was pausing here and there to gather herbs she knew would come useful in time.

The moss on the rock, it was in a reproductive cycle, paired beside the liverwort she knew they could eat in a pinch if needed, and there, it was a web woven by the burrowing red spider, she recognized the pigmentation in the silk. Neria in turn spoke of the things she knew, the things that captivated her attention, and there were times Duncan could not fill in the blanks of her curiosity.

"It is easy to forget that you are not accustom to the world. Your botany is quite advanced."

Delicately folding the thick deathroot leaves in waxed linens, Neria slipped them into the flattened pouch on her waist. "It's easy to become obsessed with things you cannot see."

"Too true." They turned on the road again.

"We had an herbarium but... it was nothing comparitively." Neria motioned over the hillside. They had been following along the rising bluffs of the lake, from which they could now and then see the water a few miles off through tree and hill.

Her feet ached like she never imagined they could, with a slight burn of electricity up her calves. Neria was not athletic - she had not spent time on her physical form, never needing to. She imagined that was but another facet that would be changing. She kept the pace none the less, despite the tactile desire to slow down and absorb everything she could.

When the sun swirled away into a bank of darkening cloud, Duncan touched her arm and she followed him off the road. The wind had picked up, shuddering even the herbs on the ground with its energetic bursts.

"There is an abandoned hamlet just off the road. It used to be an outpost for the Orleasians during the occupation. I have stayed there before - there will be shelter for us." Duncan chuckled as he followed her through a copse of elder, "While I realize we need to acclimate you with the world, I imagine marching through an autumn storm would not suit either of us."

He motioned as they walked, and she gathered wood found, stooping as well to pick a few puffballs she identified, knowing their speckling to be edible. The elder were late into their blossom, and she plucked a few as well, smiling apologetically before hurrying after Duncan as he nearly turned out of sight.

Crossing beneath the aqueduct, the ruined foundations of a handful of homes came into view, as did the remaining posts of a livestock pen. One building had not yet fallen into complete disrepair, its masonry solid and a partial roof covering atop.

"There," Duncan motioned. "Start a fire while I lay snares."

Without further word, he turned off through the overgrown pasture and Neria was left on her own in the old road. Looking down, she could still see where the soil was compacted from cart wheels and hooves. There was the distant rumble of thunder as Neria stepped through the grasses and into the shelter of the house.

It was surprisingly dry, though here and there a bit of mould clung to the straw that poked out of the plaster walls. A crooked shelf hung in the corner, and there was an iron basin sunk in the floor that was blackened from use. Resetting the stones around it, Neria dropped the branches into the depression.

Fire had never been something Neria had an over interest in learning to use, it was too volatile, but from the earliest age, apprentices were taught to craft and manipulate it. She could still remember the instructor speaking about how it helped them train their will. The ability to control fire, something that was so unpredictable and wild, reflected on their ability to restrain themselves and the magic that coursed through them.

Almost without thought, the flames danced to life at Neria's command. She stacked on more twigs to keep from needing to concentrate upon it, and wandering out behind the house, found a broken plough that she cracked the wood from. Partially rotted, but relatively dry.

Standing, she looked back through the clearing. She could see the hills fall down, tripping towards where she knew Lake Calenhad was - or at least, was fairly certain. In her pack she had the map First Enchanter Irving had given her neatly rolled, even though Ferelden's geography was etched into her mind.

How she had a sense of direction, Neria couldn't imagine. But she supposed that even in the Tower, she had never been turned around very easily.

Know the winds, map the skies, and you will never be lost.

The wind tugged at Neria's robes, and she cringed the fabric closer to her body. It cut through the simple fabric, and though she also had a wool-lined cloak, she didn't want to break it out. The air felt charged and smelled divine, dried fields, trees, animals, and so much that she couldn't identify, and only imagine what the source was.

The sky was darkening, and thunder rumbled discordantly from the flickers of light that silhouetted the bulbous edges of the storm clouds. She imagined it was half way to twilight, based on how long they walked. She had difficulty with the time, for though they had chatted, much time had been spent walking in silence.

It was comfortable though. Duncan wasn't a fool or a lecher, and when he spoke it had purpose, not just sound to pollute the air.

"Ech," Neria made a sound as a beetle from within the wood scuttled over her hand, and she dropped the piece. Kicking it, she was satisfied enough when she inspected it to retrieve it and go back to the house. Building the fire, she sat by its glow and watched the clouds advance.

When Duncan returned, Neria had retrieved a stick of charcoal from the edge of the fire and was sketching in her journal.

"You are an artist as well?"

Duncan dropped his pack against the wall, tugging his dagger and sword free and loosening his chest plate. Lines of fatigue crossed his forehead, but there was genuine curiosity in his eyes as he sat across from her.

A rosy hue on her cheeks, Neria pulled her journal closer, unaware of his approach. "I don't know if I'd call myself one. It has its uses - documenting things, you know?"

"There is no need to be embarrassed, I'm sure if I tried to draw anything, the comparison would put me to shame." He chuckled and ran a cloth over his blade, following her eyes out the broken front of the house to the clouds that hung over the fractured aqueduct.

Her fingertips smeared with black, Neria blushed more darkly, but relinquished the book none the less to his open palm. Calloused fingers gingerly smoothed over the leather as he looked down, and he nodded in agreement at the duplication of the view.

"That is just charcoal?" He quietly asked, and a rumble of thunder followed before the spatter of rain darkened the ground beyond their hutch.

Neria nodded, flecking bits of the black off her nails before saying, "I want to save my quills, if I can. This is just frivolous of me, I know."

"Not at all." Duncan handed back the journal, offering a rare smile, "We must take our pleasures where they can be gained."

Nipping the inside of her bottom lip, Neria looked back to the fire. They were quiet as Duncan dismantled his pack and went through the idle process of honing his weapons, his features relaxing into the routine.

Soon enough the storm took full hold, and the sky darkened further, creating a twilight all its own that made Neria wrap the journal and hide it back in her things. Another log on the fire kept their space lit, but the rain cooled the air and dampened it, soaking through the clothes.

Neria had always appreciated the cold, perhaps it spoke of her blood as a native Ferelden, but it was a comfort. While heat was sticky, inescapable and sickly, cold was hardening, cleansing and pure. That was in the air, fresh and crisp, the cold outfall of the storm as it crashed, casting shadows and brightness that even dimmed the glow of the fire.

Standing at the edge of their shelter, she wanted nothing more than to strip and feel it against her skin, the rain pelting cold, the wind shivering through her and bringing goosebumps. Neria did shiver at the thought, running a hand over her hair as she kept her eyes to the sky. She felt insignificant and blessed to see such raw beauty and power.

Had she ever been alive in the Tower compared to this?

"Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Duncan was at her side, his voice just loud enough over the rain. Neria turned, surprised to find she was hugging herself. Duncan had his arms crossed together behind him, his frame smaller with his armour removed.

"We saw the storms coming - sometimes. There are only a few windows in the Tower. And we were always encased in stone, you couldn't feel them like this. They didn't sound like this." Neria turned away, caught by the inquisitive nature of his eyes. "It was safe."

"And this isn't?"

Neria cringed back as a crack of lightning rippled across the sky, blinding her eyes a moment and leaving her pupils struggle to readjust. "No, no not at all, that's what's wonderful, isn't it?"

Duncan could only laugh at her timid reaction, a brief shake of his head precluding his words, "Perhaps. I always missed Ferelden's storms when I was in Orlais. The mountains brew them into something unforgiving and vicious." He followed her gaze out to the clouds, and another flash of lightening lit up the clouds, "But there is beauty in nature's raw, unbridled passion."

Finding herself blushing again, Neria cleared her throat, the sound lost beneath the rain, and merely nodded.

"Unfortunately, I think it will ensure the traps I laid stay empty." He murmured to himself, turning back to the fire as Neria stayed standing. The worst of the clouds rolled by, but the rain and thunder continued, satisfied into submission almost, grumbling onward.

"I have the mushrooms... and I can make tea. If you'd like?" Neria pulled herself away from the darkening sky, evening setting in as she refuelled the fire, a whisper on her lips ensuring the new log added caught quick.

Assembling his bedroll, Duncan cast her a sideways glance, "Elder blossoms... I had forgotten they made a tea. Perfect for a cool night."

Taking their sole pot from where they'd left it to fill with rainwater, Neria murmured a subtle spell and brought the water near to a boil before crushing the blossoms into it. Filling their cups, she clasped the metal to warm her hands, it and the fire the sole sources of heat.

"We'll sleep in watches I take it?"

Duncan nodded as he ate one of the puffballs she'd collected, following it with a piece of the hardtack he carried tied in his satchel. "Yes, I will take the first."

"Oh no, no - I can't sleep with all this noise." Neria sat down beside her own packed bedroll, cup in hand as the rain pattered on the half-ruined roof above them.

Shaking his head, Duncan said, "You are not used to such things. Rest, and I will wake you when needed. Though I imagine the rain will keep most things away."

"Of course, ser." Neria looked into her tea, watching the firelight reflected on its surface.

"Please, I am no Ser." Duncan chuckled, finishing his tea and setting the cup beside the pot before sitting by the fire..

The storm had mostly subsided as Neria lay down on her bedroll, though the sounds of the night did nothing to help lull her to sleep. The patter of rain, the distant whirr and glub of insects and frogs, even the sound of the wind, the way it whistled and hushed through leaves and gaps in the building seemed larger than life. She didn't want to miss it.

But the familiar crackle of the logs popping and settling to dim ash combined with Duncan's quiet humming, and Neria fell asleep on the hard ground. It was only deeper into the night she realized her exhaustion, as her body protested waking at Duncan's urging.

He chuckled none the less as she groaned, and apologized. "It is something you will grow accustomed to."

As soon as Neria was up, Duncan lay by the fire, and in the darkness, she fuelled it with her will, keeping it burning warm with relatively little exertion. It was a fine exercise.

When the rain stopped some time later, Neria wandered out beneath the stars, unable to keep her face from tilting up. The air was refreshing and humid, and the storm left the sky clear. Though there was only a sliver of a moon, the stars - Maker, the stars. She'd studied a little astronomy, but even in their best locations, they never saw the sky like this.

The ground underfoot was softer, squishing with her steps as she walked farther away from the ruins. The starlight left everything gilded in silver. Were she not elven, she may have had difficulty in the low light.

Neria stood for some time beneath the open sky, wandering back now and then to keep an eye on the fire and Duncan. It felt odd watching him sleep, invasive - even if she'd not had a night when someone wasn't watching or sleeping nearby.

The eastern sky had started to brighten when she turned the opposite direction from the cluster of former houses. Her keen ears had picked up a sound unlike the others that seemed a natural part of the soundscape. She followed the shrill cry, her stomach clenched. It almost sounded like a child, some of them screamed as they were brought to the Tower, as though the walls would eat them.

Neria's hand fluttered over her mouth as she saw the rabbit in the snare. It was kicking and thrashing, caught in it oddly, and its back was curved improperly. It screamed again, and she had to blink away her tears.

This was to be one of their meals, why was she so naïve to it? This was a trap Duncan laid.

The rabbit's back legs twitched, twining it more fully in the snare and exacerbating its shrill cries.

She was watching it suffer. But what was she supposed to do, she'd never killed a thing in her life? Paled, she slipped a small knife from its sheath on her belt.

Neria put her hand over the rabbit's eyes and smoothed its ears back, "It's okay, it'll be over soon." Palm over its eyes, she held it by the scruff, its legs shaking nervously. But its screams had stopped.

Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, Neria slit the rabbit's throat, only letting go as most of the blood spilt and its body stilled. Her heart was racing as if in tribute, a panicked pace that made her ill. Cutting it from the snare, the body dangled in her grasp, and by the time Neria was able to move, the sky had brightened for her walk back to camp.

* * *

Naria was quiet as they continued down the highway, leaving before the sun had fully risen. The warmth of day burnt away the fog that hung over the countryside, leaving the air hot.

"Thank you for breakfast," she interjected as Duncan paused to inspect an overturned cart off the road.

"Oh? Well, I will try and teach you some. Rabbits are relatively easy to skin with the proper knowledge."

Concealing her distress, Neria replied, "Of course, I should probably learn that sort of thing."

Duncan paid no heed, "We shall have to be more careful. This attack is recent. No doubt bandits." He motioned and they walked on. "There is an exodus from the south as the horde drives people from their lands. Some of the less savoury become opportunistic."

"That must be terrifying."

"Indeed. But better to sacrifice their land and possessions than their lives."

They camped just outside the village after purchasing more supplies and filling their skeins in the well. Neria took the first shift, and when Duncan woke in the morning, he cooked eggs garnered from a nearby farmer. They were soon off again and the landscape shifted into the more arduous, hilly terrain of the Hinterlands. The road was in greater disrepair, and the farmsteads were fewer between.

"Not many are comfortable living this close to the Wilds. Though I am uncertain now, in the past, the Chasind have been known to raid in small bands outside of their territory."

"But what about the arl or bann? Does this land come under Redcliffe or Lothering, or?"

"It is often disputed, and as a result, poorly managed."

Neria nodded, and they turned on the road through a valley. Here and there the ruins of statues, buildings, and toppled stone drew her eyes. She wished she could draw it all.

"I wonder if people know how beautiful the countryside is?"

Duncan hemmed and shook his head before saying, "This land is buried under snow a good portion of the year, and very little that is worthwhile grows here. I'm not certain I'd consider it beautiful." He chuckled, "Perhaps when you've been out in it for a year or two we might revisit the notion?"

Neria grinned, trying to catch her breath as they took a hill, "Yes, of course. I must seem ridiculous."

"Eager, more so."

They paused at the top. The sun was low in the west, colouring the land a vibrant hue and filling it with lengthening shadows and saturation. There was a herd of cattle grazing in the east.

"Not much farther, and we'll set up camp."

"Not regretting recruiting me yet?" Neria asked, grinning as they marched on. "I am sorry if I am slowing us down."

Duncan's dark eyes met hers and he shook his head, "Not at all. I will show you some exercises when we make camp. They will aide your endurance and help develop muscle."

Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, Neria replied, "Thank you, that's very kind. You've been nothing but kind since the moment I met you."

"You have never given me a reason to be anything but, Neria."

Clasping her hands together behind her, the elf unconsciously mimicked Duncan's posture as they walked, "I'm a mage. Seems that would be enough for most."

"I have had brethren in the Wardens who were mages - and elves before you at that." Duncan kept his eyes on the horizon. "I have always tried to leave my judgements aside, and allow the individual to form my opinion of them."

"That's very noble."

"Well," chuckled Duncan, tilting his head. It was a minute before he added, "Besides, soon we will be kin through the order. Brothers and sisters we all are - though admittedly, fewer sisters. I doubt intentionally." He added when he saw her inquisitive look.

"It sounds like something I'm used to," Neria's smile softened.

"Oh?"

"Strangers brought together by their common burden, giving up all else, leaving only each other to find strength and family in."

Duncan regarded the elf as she veered off to a nearby bush, carefully paring the thorns off of it. Neria smiled as she hurried back.

"Did you have a choice about becoming a Grey Warden?" Neria peeled one of the thorns and chewed on it, lips closing over it. As Duncan resumed walking with her, she blushed and said, "I'm sorry...I... is that inappropriate? You're very easy to speak with."

"The alternative was death," Duncan said as they moved down the slope.

"Oh..." Neria stored the rest of the thorns, chewing a while before spitting the pale green bit out. "Sounds like going to the Tower."

Camping in the lee of a steep hill, the sun disappeared more quickly than normally. The road nearby crossed a stream that was almost dry from the summer, and they set their camp only a few yards from it under the open sky. The firmament was painted in rich blues that deepened as the night took hold. Neria offered to stay up for the first watch, alert from the plant she'd chewed.

Down by the stream, she took off her boots and sunk her feet into the water. Watching the fireflies, she ran her feet over the smooth stones, feeling the streambed as the current was forced into eddies around her ankles. The water was cooler than the air, but not unpleasant, and in the twilight she caught a small frog.

"Acting like a child," she sighed, smiling even as she felt the damp creature hop in the prison of her hands, bumping around.

What would all the apprentices say if they saw her - would they believe it was her?

They'd be doing all the same things as you, Neria, and more.

She realized why no matter how many times some mages kept being brought back by the templars, they kept trying to escape. Neria shook her head, opening her hands to let the little amphibian out. There was a mage in particular that was a bit of a joke, he'd been in solitary confinement for almost a year since his recent escapade.

Looking back to camp, she saw the fire was dying, so Neria rose. She walked on the grass like one might coals, her feet unseasoned and pampered from a life indoors. When she stepped on a fledgling thistle in the dark, she cursed and dropped her boots.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, not wanting to wake the Warden who slept nearby. Standing on one foot, Neria was about to lower to the ground to put her socks back on, when she was grabbed from behind. The pressure of a blade on her throat froze her, as a rough hand clasped over her own.

"Don't you make a sound, missy." The thick accent of a Ferelden commoner was by her ear, as was the stench of his unwashed clothes. The dagger bit her skin, and she couldn't help but squeak, the sound muffled.

Opposite the fire, Neria saw two other shabbily armoured men going through her pack. They spilt her map and book, and the elf tensed.

"'ey, look'ee, she's a knife-ear."

Neria kept her head and looked to Duncan. He slept with most of his armour hidden beside him - they had no idea who they were robbing. Dragged sideways, she breathed in through her nose, rapidly blinking the tears from her eyes.

"Lucky us fo' the fun."

Released into the arms of another man, Neria deliberately stumbled. The moment she was free, she turned and uttered the spell, and a chill erupted from her hands and froze the two men harassing her.

"Maker's balls, she's an apostate!"

Gasping in, Neria quickly shouted, "Duncan!"

With a brief shake of his head, the Warden was awake, and one of the two unfrozen bandits darted at him with a longsword. Duncan rolled sideways, dagger in his hand from an unseen place at his side, and he was on a knee to catch the attack. His fingers found the hilt of his enchanted blade, and sweeping around, knocked the man off balance.

"Shit, Devon, this isn't worth it!" The man dropped Neria's pack and ran as his companion was run through on Duncan's blade. There was a gurgle in his throat before the man was pushed aside.

Neria meanwhile had gathered her senses, and as the men seemed to thaw, a coating of stone enveloped her hand. Sibilant whispers on her tongue, she hurled the summoned rock at them. One of the men shattered, and Neria huffed in alarm, only to see Duncan's dagger protrude through the front of the other man's chest.

 _I killed him. I killed that man._

Neria found her breath and looked at Duncan as he stepped towards her. He was clad in just his trousers, his chest mottled with white scars that stood out from his chest hair. He was speaking to her.

" ... hurt?"

Touching her throat, Neria felt where the dagger had cut. She was bleeding. Only feeling the wetness woke the pulse of the wound, the burn. "I... it's not serious. I will be able to fix it." At the sudden realization of what occurred, she felt her cheeks redden, "Oh ser, I - I failed my watch..."

Exhaling out, Duncan stretcjed the shirt of one of the dead men, leaning over to clean his blades on it. "I should have given you more instruction. It... has been some years since I recruited a mage. I overlooked the gaps in your training."

But Neria didn't hear him, her eyes were down on the ground, at the pieces of the man she killed. Thawing, the hunks of limbs had begun to ooze blood. What a terrible way to die...

This was worse than the Fade. She knew this was real, she had acted on instinct. And now he was dead.

"Neria?" Duncan touched her shoulder.

"Are you hurt, ser?"

"No, they didn't touch me."

It was only as Duncan's grasp tightened on her arm that Neria realized she had swayed.

"Come, sit."

Helping her to the ground, Duncan snagged his rust-coloured shirt and pulled it on. He dragged off the bodies, kicking dirt over the blood before setting his daggers back by the bedroll. He filled their pot with water from the stream and came back, satisfied after his search of the surroundings that the last attacker was nowhere to be found.

"I apologize," Neria quietly said as he sat down beside her. She had an arm around her knees, while the other lay in the grass, fingers tugging at blades. She guarded her words, "I should have reacted better."

"Have you ever killed someone before?" Wetting a cloth, Duncan placed it against the back of her neck, and Neria sighed out.

"N.. not out of...well, the Fade." Her voice stayed quiet, and the fire popped, "It was different."

"I can imagine." Duncan drew his hand back as Neria took hold of the cloth. Dragging it around her neck she held it over her face with both hands, a chill seeping into it from her breath.

"A person learns better to detach themselves from it as time goes on. And darkspawn... are not men. So perhaps it will be easier for you."

Voice muffled lightly by the cloth, Neria whispered, "I suppose I'll have to get used to it."

Duncan sighed and shifted to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling the woman closer. Taking the cloth, he cooled it in the water again before putting it back in her hands, and Neria covered her reddened face. "When you are faced with moral difficulties, concentrate on the goal of your actions. When you are a Grey Warden, your actions must supersede so much - your needs, the needs of your country - because you will act for the better of all men."

Neria nodded, lifting her head and smoothing her hands back into her hair as she leant into his shoulder.

"You never have to enjoy or grow accustomed to killing, Neria - but that cannot stay your hand. We go to war."

"Thank you, Duncan."

Rolling forward onto a knee, Duncan retrieved a few branches to add to the dwindling fire. His hair had been frazzled further in the fighting, loose from sleep. Sitting back on his matt, he motioned beside him, "Rest for now. I will wake you for the watch in early dawn."

Unfolding the bundle, Neria lay it out where he indicated, near him by the fire, and lay down, watching the flicker of the flames as the branches took. The fantasy of her freedom as a Warden dissolved in its heat, melting away to reveal the true core of obligation and sacrifice.

She realized she was going to die. That was what soldiers did - that is what she was now.

Duncan turned a flask over the fire, dipping its bulbous bottom into the flames to heat it before he added the paste in his hand. Inside the fluid blistered with viscous bubbles. Satisfied, Duncan soaked a thick piece of suede with it, twining the hide tight before sinking it into the bottle.

Neria watched it, feeling apart from herself, the scent in the air sharp and making her eyes water. In her exhaustion, she closed her eyes, the glamour of the world lost for the time being.


	3. Preparations

"Tactical consideration will be a greater concern of yours, more than technique. When you think of combat, what do you imagine? Who is at the advantage, the sword or the dagger?"

Neria walked alongside Duncan, toying with the charm on her staff as they did.

"I don't really know - the sword seems as though it would have greater strength."

"That it may," Duncan conceded, "Perhaps it is in part why I employ each. The sword requires stance and distance, more often than not. But in close quarters, it would leave an individual at a disadvantage."

Neria nodded, trying to place her mind into a melee fray.

"I will strive to help you learn the basics of weapon combat, most likely with a dagger. Defendable, aptitude with a smaller blade entails drawing the fight to you rather than pursuing it. Assume that you will start every fight at a disadvantage."

Almost laughing, Neria looked to Duncan and saw he was serious, "Do you mean that?"  
"It will enable you to train in a way that lets you react and adapt to the situations you encounter."

They were coming to the end of the Tevinter roads that led towards the Wilds, the land surrounding them more garish and bogged by standing water and drowned trees. Even here, ruins marked the countryside where the land had reclaimed the forays of civilization.

"I will set traps for the night, and then we will begin training."

"Even though I am a mage?"

Duncan chuckled as he assembled his ropes, casting a sideways glance at Neria, "The more tools you have at your disposal, the greater your chances of surviving."

Providing her with one of his spare, lighter daggers, Duncan moved through an exercise of combative forms, pausing in each to explain their use.

"As a mage, you should rarely position yourself within the fray. This will lend itself to allowing the fight to come to you. They will advance, and you will react, decisive and quick." Duncan flowed, stepping back to ward a supposed attack with his left hand and drew the dagger from the small of his back to stab. "Simple, effective actions in response to duress."

Flushing despite herself, Neria tried her best to mimic his actions, and her tutor would stop, adjust, and advise on how best to correct her movements. Pleased that she would remember the flow of patterns, he followed with a group of cutting and drawing exercises to build the muscles she would need and ingrain the techniques.

"In time, you may learn ways to pair your intuitive magic with the more rehearsed method of physical combat." Duncan chuckled, scarce breaking a sweat as Neria tried to catch her breath, "Regrettably something I am not familiar with. But we will look for it."

"Robes are not designed for this," she said in a huff, lowering her fatigued arms.

Duncan nodded, and urged her through further repetition as he assessed her, providing more detail regarding the tactics to use in melee and talking about the upcoming battle.

"Make your opponent control the distance of the fight and what weapons he will use against you."

When he was satisfied with her exhaustion, Duncan left her to build a fire and set camp while he went to check his traps. Luck was with them, and they had a hare skinned and cooking over the fire.

Chewing the tender meat, Neria looked to Duncan, "Where did you learn to fight?"

His eyes betrayed nothing as Duncan merely said, "Most of what I know was originally borne out of necessity. I had no formal training."

Neria nodded, filling her mouth and knowing better than to dig. Exhausted, she eagerly turned to sleep at Duncan's suggestion.

She was woken in the night to harsh command, unrested, and the Warden's expression pulled her from the haze.

"Douse the fire."

Extending her hand, the flames died, and with scarce a puff the ashes extinguished under a layer of ice.

"We must move. There is a large band of darkspawn nearby - too large for us to handle on our own."

It was barely predawn, and Neria could see wisps drifting through the fog over the nearby slough. The stars still shone brightly in the sky. Her voice croaked from disuse as Neria asked, "What? Where?"

"To the east." Duncan hastily assembled their things, pressing Neria's pack into her hands as she rose. Running her fingers through her hair, she tied bits of it out of her face with leathers and scurried to follow as Duncan strode away.

The morning was made colder by the dampness in the air, and with the heavy fog, Neria could only wonder how Duncan had been able to spy any approaching darkspawn. Her body ached from their training, but she forced herself to keep up.

"Are you able to see?" Neria whispered.

"Not as well as you, but I'll manage."

They moved in silence across logs and squishy swamp, and there was more than once Neria's foot slipped into some water and she was sure she'd give them away.

The dawn came and burned off the fog, showing the half-forested muskeg around them. It was nearly midday before Duncan's pace relented and he seemed to relax back into their normal pace - and Neria felt it was alright to speak again.

"Are we out of danger?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," Duncan chuckled, "But for now the darkspawn are no longer nearby. Though in a way, we strive to meet up with more, mm?"

They slept very little in the ensuing days, catching only as much as was needed before Duncan urged them onwards. In dwindling light he continued her training, reiterating the drills and routines he wished her to practise every day, pleased with her capacity to recall them. Apart from that, she resumed her own drills for will and spell execution that she had been taught for years.

The reality of the war grew for Neria as the blighted clouds came into view, hanging in the southern sky and tangled with pillars of smoke that often blotted the sun. Even at the clearest, a haze stayed over the sky, muting and spreading the bright light of the sun. The air smelled of rot and wet, and the nights were humid and cold.

Finally rounding a hill, Duncan pointed off through the trees and Neria could see the spire of a broken, ancient tower.

"There. We will be at Ostagar by midday."

Hesitating as though to gather a few herbs, Neria stared at the horizon as Duncan continued forward, the dread in her stomach taking firm hold.

* * *

Stopping on the bridge, Neria looked over the expanse of forest, in awe at the breadth of it. She could smell the pine in the air, mingled with burning forges, the sweat of men, and something incalculable that made her uneasy.

It seemed totally incredible that she were here, so many miles from the life she had once known - the prison that she couldn't deny the Tower being. Freedom was better, wasn't it?

The exuberant chorus of an aggressive cry drew her eyes down, and stepping to the edge of the bridge, she looked the opposite direction. The king's army was there, sprawling in tents back from the crumbled walls of Ostagar. Pinpoints of scraggly smoke showed where different fires burnt, and she could see units in formation, moving and swinging, executing moves at the behest of their Commanders.

And further still, there were smiths at outdoor forges, a white glow soon blocked by the dip of metal, the clank of hammers alternated by the clash of sword and axe. There she could see a group of men passing a pipe, smiling and laughing before one hit the other in the shoulder, rolling into a physical spar. But more were sleeping, lain out beneath the bright haze of sky, resting while they could for the coming battle.

There were too many to count, lean-tos under the few remaining trees, beside stumps where trees had been felled. Massive bonfires burnt, built like half-attempted houses, the logs staggered into a rising pyre. Above it all the banners flew, the King's standard most prevalent, but she recognized a few of the lesser lords and banns.

Footsteps behind her caused Neria to turn, and a patrol passed, the flash of white beneath his helmet showing his smile. He inclined his head before looking away, and hands in the sleeves of her robe, the elf turned and followed him, her own pace erratic and quick over the old stone.

The wind tugged her robes as she hurried across the bridge, and walking up the steps at the opposite end, the soldier guarding the camp saluted and greeted her.

"You must be the new Grey Warden recruit. Anything I can help you with, miss?"

Neria smiled close-lipped in her surprise and said, "No, thank you."

"Aye, well best of luck. Find me if you need t' know where anything is."

Inclining her head, Neria walked up into camp, dodging the messengers and soldiers as they passed. Most didn't give her a second glance, her own eyes soaking all the action in. It was then she saw a familiar face by a wide set of colourful tents that she could scarce believe.

"Wynne!"

The mage turned at the sound, and the elderly woman's expression warmed to a kindly smile. "Neria, of all people - you're the recruit, aren't you?"

Stepping off the beaten path, Neria ran hand through her hair, keeping it from her eyes as the wind whipped it. "I'll be a Grey Warden soon."

Touching a hand to the young elf's cheek, Wynne's expression softened, "That there could be anyone who would do us more proud. More than anything, I think I'm just glad to see you alive and past your Harrowing."

Neria nodded, her expression hardening, "Aye, I made it."

Wynne clasped her hands back together around her stave, eyes tired, "I heard about Jowan as well. I'm sorry, child."

"So am I." Neria looked away, linking her fingers together at her waist. She could see Duncan nearby, speaking with someone by one of the large pyres. "Have you ever fought darkspawn, Wynne?"

"I was part of a skirmish a few days ago," Wynne nodded, "Removed from the melee, but it is enough. They seem to suck the life out of the very air around them."

"I don't suppose you'd help me cut my hair, Wynne - I've wondered if it will get in the way."

"How short do you want it? You've always had such beautiful hair, Neria."

Neria ran her fingers back through the white tresses, blushing lightly, "Oh I don't know. So there's only a few inches left. So no one can catch it, or snag it on anything."

They chatted a while more, and Wynne invited her back to the mages tents to supply her with a few scrolls to study and practise before helping cut her hair short. Touching hands, Neria departed past the stage where a reverend mother prayed to a collection of kneeling soldiers to explore the camp, and it was mid-afternoon before she returned to speak with Duncan again.

* * *

Neria lingered back as she saw Senior Enchanter Grahame speak with a fair-haired soldier. It was her second day in camp, still early in the morning. She rested her fingers against her lips, considering the simple splintmail he was wearing. The mage was growing irate, though from her experience, the Enchanter could be terribly bull-headed.

This was where Duncan had said she'd find the youngest Warden who would help them with their Joining. Another ritual to become something. Neria didn't imagine it could be quite as horrific as the Harrowing.

"The Circle of Magi is here by the king's order to help the Grey Wardens."

"Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Tell her I will not be harassed!"

"Right yes, because the reverent mother sent me over her specifically to harass you. It's sad really, I thought we were getting on so well! I was going to name one of my children after you," Alistair sighed, keeping eye-to-eye with the mage, "The grumpy one."

Grahame scoffed and saw Neria's approach, scarce meeting her eyes and nodding as he said, "Fine. I will go speak with the woman. " He strode by, brushing her out of his way.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Neria was easily a head shorter than Alistair, and her brow raised as she asked, "Sorry, what?"  
"You look like you might be another mage..." He muttered to himself, "I have all the luck."

Relaxing her shoulders, Neria crossed her arms and looked up at the man as she lightly said, "Would that make your day worse?"

"Ohhh... wait - you must be the new recruit Duncan mentioned, from the Circle, right? Glad to meet you."

"And you must be Alistair."

"Yep, that would be me." Offering a light smile, Alistair rocked on his heels, hands relaxing off his hips as he looked at Neria. "You're not quite what I expected."

Her cheeks colouring rose, Neria dropped a foot back, her voice light but heated, "What's that supposed to mean? And why does everyone keep saying that?"

"There aren't many women - or elves for that matter - in the Grey Wardens. I don't know why, I mean," Alistair stumbled, "Not that I have a problem with it, I just haven't seen any."

"Probably because we're too smart for you."

"Yes - yes, that's exactly it," Alistair laughed nervously, before adding, "Though, the last Grey Warden to stop the Blight was an elf, you know, Garahel. Shows us."

Neria offered a slight smile and shook her head, looking down as she made a sound.

"Well," chuckled Alistair, "Since I'm the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you and the other recruits to prepare for your Joining."

"A pleasure to meet you then - I am Neria Surana."

"Right, that was it. Have you met the other recruits?"

The other recruits - meeting them had not made for particularly enjoyable moments. One had seemed more nervous than she'd imagined a knight should be, leaving behind a wife and child in Redcliffe while the other had been more than eager to comment on her ass-sets and make a lewd suggestion.

Voice subdued to conceal her thoughts, Neria replied, "I have."

Running a hand through his hair, Alistair said, "I suppose we should head over then. Before the revered mother tracks me down to do something else. I tell you, she wields guilt like a weapon."

Turning through the ruins, Neria looked up at Alistair with a wary eye, "Why would she?"

"Well," Alistair inhaled and spoke quietly, "I almost became a templar. If Duncan hadn't recruited me, I would have taken my vows and that would have been that."

Neria looked away, containing her unease, "You didn't want to be in the Chantry, hunting mages?"

"Maker, no, it was all sort of set in stone for me." Alistair waved his hands defensively, "I think sometimes Duncan took pity on me when he recruited me. The Grand Cleric didn't wish to let me go, he ended up conscripting me after a tournament in the Grey Warden's honour."

"He seems like a good man, Duncan." Neria toyed with a bead on the belt of her robes.

"He is." Eyes ahead of them as they walked by the quartermaster and mage's tents, Alistair's voice was gentle, "Are you glad to be joining the Wardens?"

"I think so, yes." Compared with life in the tower, Neria thought. But here was another who sought freedom through the submission to the Warden's cause - through duty.

"Have you ever fought darkspawn before?"

Neria shook her head, "No... though we passed through where one of the battles was on our way here." She swallowed, her stomach trembling at the memory of their corpses. "Monstrous things."

Alistair nodded, looking at her from the corner of his eye, "I've only met them in one battle. It was terrifying."

"That's encouraging," she murmured.

Alistair chuckled, "Maybe it makes it easier. I'm sure you'll do well. You wouldn't be here unless Duncan had the utmost faith in your abilities." He went to rest a hand on her shoulder, but Neria was already pulling away.

"Mabari - I've read about these, amazing dogs of war. They're huge!"

Greeting the kennel master, Neria talked with him a while and looked over the brutish, muscular hounds that were resting in the kennel. One in particular was ill and not taking to his medicine. He spoke about the swamp weed blossom, which Neria recognized, and she offered to obtain it for him if she could.

Alistair cleared his throat and drew her attention away, motioning to where Duncan was standing with Daveth and Ser Jory by a large pyre. Neria offered a quick apology and hurried back with him.

* * *

Downslope from Ostagar, they wove away from the valley where the king's army and the rest of the Grey Wardens made camp. Neria couldn't escape feeling nervous, knowing that her mettle would be tested - there was no doubt they would encounter darkspawn, and Maker knows what else. She could see her tension reflected in Ser Jory's face as they hurried forward to where a battle had taken place.

"Please...please help me..."

Holding the hem of her robes, Neria bypassed the corpses on the ground when movement caught her eye.

"Well look at that, he's not as dead as he looks."

Shooting Alistair a glance, Neria knelt down as the fallen soldier recounted the darkspawn that had attacked them. Her companions shifted uneasily, and she instructed him to stay still as she lay her hands on him and incanted. The words, so simple to her, a mantra practised over and over, infused his body with strength and closed his wounds.

"Can you make it back to camp? You will need to rest... but you shouldn't die from your injuries."

On his feet with a limp, the soldier admitted he could, and turning back the way they came, hobbled off towards the army camp. No sooner had he stepped away, that an overlapping chorus of howls filled the air.

Alistair drew his sword and stepped before Neria as the bushes rustled, and a pack of wolves darted out. With Daveth at her side, she found her routine of spells, and they hadn't reached her before sword and magical might had left them bloodied on the ground.

"See? Not so bad." Alistair adjusted the grip on his sword, and Neria nodded, not smiling.

"B-but those were just wolves - what about the darkspawn? A troupe of trained men, all but slaughtered!"

"There is a reason we're out here Jory, it could very well be part of our test." Tilting her head, Neria saw something farther through the mists, and the men followed her as she went towards it. Barbarian statues, they seemed, twined with shields and bloodied body parts. She clenched her teeth at the smell, softly saying, "Maker preserve us."

"There is a reason I am with you - all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn."

"See good ser knight? At least if we're going to die, we'll have a bit of warning before they get us."

Ser Jory rumbled to himself, and another minute passed when Alistair tensed and gave them warning.

"Darkspawn ahead."

Creeping beneath the ruins of an Imperial arch, Daveth raised his bow, and an arrow whizzed through the air, landing in a creature some forty feet off with a 'thuck'. It let loose a barrage of sound, and Neria caught her breath, steeling herself as she saw the group of darkspawn.

They were every bit the horror the tales made them to be, corrupt flesh and lipless mouths rimmed in sharp teeth. Their bodies seemed coated in a blackened ichor, armour and clothing tattered with the ruin of their existence. Tall and stunted alike were running towards them, and both knight and templar met them half way.

Neria blinked away the hesitation, forcing herself to act, a sharp command in her throat as she raised a hand, a pillar of frigid air enveloping a hurlock and cloying his limbs in ice. She turned as an arrow clipped her arm, nicking her robe but leaving her unscathed. The bolt from her stave flew in reply, and the genlock staggered back, cut down as Alistair swung from the creature he had felled to slice through its knees.

Her senses buzzed as the group was dispatched, and Neria caught her breath as Alistair produced the set of vials they were to fill. Standing over the hurlock, she could smell the taint upon its flesh, and the blood it seeped into the ground killed the plant life it touched.

"Maker's breath..." Daveth shook his head, following her gaze.

Blood. This wasn't blood. These were darkspawn. That made it better. Did it? Or did it make it worse? This is the taint that supposedly defiled the Golden City, the blackness that destroyed and brought sin to heaven. The price that she has paid for as a mage - that all mages still yet pay for.

Seeing that the other two recruits were still gaping, Neria took the vials from Alistair, noticing the sympathetic gaze he gave her. Taking Daveth's still bloodied dagger, she slit the neck of the creature and held the vial to it.

"Hey..."

"What, you'd rather do this yourself?" Neria corked the vial and slipped it into her pouch, raising a brow at him as she walked to the genlock. She bled it as well, able to fill the remaining two vials from its relatively intact corpse. Wiping the blade on the grass, she handed it back to Daveth.

"So where is the tower?" Neria concentrated on her breathing, feeling her swimming senses come back as she regained her mental fortitude.

"There is a ridge that cuts along the south, swamp filled with Avvar and Tevinter ruins." Alistair lifted his chin as he looked deeper into the wilds, and he pointed, "The dome there was one of the landmarks Duncan mentioned."

"So we'll continue?"

"The sooner we get out of here the better," Ser Jory replied, eyes wide as he looked over the darkspawn. They set out towards the ruins, only pausing as Neria recognized the swamp weed the kennel master had spoke of.

They encountered a larger group of darkspawn past the dangling corpses of a scout party, and it was there Neria met something of her equal. The men caught in melee, it was from root in her soul that her eyes flew through the slew of creatures to see the one that held a staff aloft.

It sapped her strength, like a spigot in her belly, and Neria felt herself waver only once before she was able to complete the spell. The rock flew from her hand and shattered against the emissary's shoulder, disrupting his hex and letting her draw a deep breath. Squaring off, she almost pulled off another spell when an arrow rooted into her left arm.

Neria screamed, staggering back with the momentum of the hit, and it set her mind on fire. The pain bit deep, and she could hear the senior enchanter yelling at her for focus. Concentration and execution even in the most dire of situations, the test which never ended. Blocking out the nausea, she froze the advancing genlock, before looking to the emissary again. Despite the band of cloth that covered its eyes, it ran back across the bridge to the safety of its archers.

Cradling her arm close, Neria hurried after the three men, who were pressing forward into the fray. She froze a hurlock, and Jory's greatsword clattered into it, cleaving its misty, cold head from its body. The bodies fell as they worked together, and when the last darkspawn lay dead, Alistair checked her.

"I - I've never been shot before." Neria said in pale disbelief, and she groaned, "We - we have to get it out, don't we?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I can heal it then, by the Maker, it certainly makes you feel alive." She almost laughed in a hysterical way.

Daveth grabbed her other hand, "Brace here." He drew her eyes up and seeing the pain he said, "I've been doing my best to watch your back, if you know what I mean, miss."

Her jaw dropped open at his blatant comment, but it seemed the distraction needed as Alistair broke the arrow and pulled it free. Neria yelped again, pushing Daveth away as he smirked, and the templar fumbled for a poultice.

"No, save them," she sighed and closed her hand over her arm. This was another test, this test of will that she could sustain it and heal it. She felt the warmth of her summoned magic flood the wound, the pulse of blood against her hand ceasing.

"Impressive," Ser Jory nodded, pocketing the coin from a crushed barrel.

"There, do you think that's it?" Neria looked from her bloodied robe to Alistair, motioning with a scarlet hand to the crumpled edifice that rose from the mists.

"I hope so," he murmured, and they pushed towards it. Letting Daveth and Ser Jory step ahead, Alistair asked, "You sure you're alright? That was quite the scream."

"I meant what I said." Seeing nowhere else to clean the blood from her hand, Neria smeared it down her staff, cheeks lightly coloured.

"Then I'm even more impressed - look, there." Alistair nodded off, and they could more clearly see the broken tower that had once been the Warden's outpost. He sucked in a breath, "More darkspawn."

They advanced through the fray with relative ease, swords easily dominating over the hurlock archers. Seeing Daveth nurse his calf, Neria beckoned him over, and quickly let the warmth of a healing spell seal the torn flesh. He offered a thankful grin, but she had already turned towards the ruins.

Spreading out through the crumbled rooms and edifices, it was apparent time had taken its toll on whatever had once been there. Very little apart from stone remained, until a rotted and cracked chest was found nestled in the gut of the main room.

"It's empty," Neria sighed, standing back up.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Turning at the voice, Neria knew right away that the woman she saw was another mage.


	4. The Joining & Ostagar

"The mages have been preparing. With these, we may proceed with the Joining. Alistair, take them to the old temple."

"Yes, ser."

The sun had been setting as they parted ways with the wilder apostate, and now the sky had taken on the richer hues of violet and orange, seeping at the edges into royal blues and darker. The stars only made it through the clouds in one or two places. Following after Alistair, Neria looked amongst the camp as men retired for the night, fires the only light. Her elven eyes made it seem but twilight compared to the humans, and she walked fatigued - it had been a long day.

Somehow she knew that death was a possible outcome of the Joining. To her, it seemed the only reason they wouldn't speak of it. It had been there in Duncan's voice - the heavy price Grey Wardens pay. Death, pain, they were unpleasant things. Still, she imagined the unknown would be enough for most people.

They waited in the temple where Neria had met Alistair.

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it."

Neria crossed her arms, looking down.

Daveth furrowed his brow as he peered at Jory, "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests and secrecy? Have I not earned my place?"

"Obviously it's a tradition they've maintained just to annoy you."

Sighing, Neria looked between them before catching Alistair's face in her periphery. He didn't meet her gaze as she said, "I swear I'm the bravest one here, and I'm a woman."

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they'd warned me...it just doesn't seem fair."

"And would you have come if they did? Maybe that's why - the Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?"

Daveth didn't let up, "I'd sacrifice a lot more if it meant ending the Blight."

A chill settled in Neria's gut, and she felt distanced from herself. "You make a good point."

"I-I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

Even here, amongst those who would be her brethren, Neria felt separate. That life as a warrior could be so simple, to rely on strength and steel. Ser Jory had done nothing but gripe the entire time in the Wilds, shying from the darkspawn and quaking at the witch they met. She flexed her hands at her sides, turning as she heard a sound.

"At last we come to the Joining." Alistair uncrossed his arms as Duncan entered the temple, resting a chalice on a stone table as he continued, "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Ser Jory paled, "We're going to drink the blood those... those creatures?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Neria looked at Alistair, as he took up the words, "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

She expected fear, Neria had been exposed to so much in the precluding week, but inside feelings were cringing away. There was no room for doubt or fear, there was only her will. She could feel her hand tremble.

"Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed."

"Let's get on with it, then," she whispered, eyes unfocused but invariably drawn to the goblet.

Duncan was watching her, though as Neria looked, his eyes drifted, appraising his recruits, "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would."

Looking down amongst them, as though in prayer, Alistair spoke, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

"Daveth, step forward."

Daveth took the chalice at Duncan's behest, unflinching as he brought the cup to his lips. Neria could feel her heart flutter, and she had to clench her fist to keep the tremour from rising up her hand as she saw the man stagger from behind, as though blindsided by a punch. Her breath cut away as he put his hands to his face, screaming.

"Maker's breath!" Ser Jory stammered as Daveth lifted his head, and Neria could not see.

But hands to his throat, Daveth gurgled and choked on the ichor he'd drank, the fight was gone, and he collapsed to the ground. His breath struggled, body convulsing as he succumb to the taint.

"I am sorry, Daveth." Duncan resigned as the man's body splayed on the stone, ebbed of life. "Step forward, Jory."

"But I... I have a wife, a child," Jory pulled his sword as Duncan turned with the offered chalice. " - had I known!"

"There is no turning back."

Neria looked to Alistair for something, anything, but his eyes were on Duncan and the man who would resist rather than submit.

"No, you ask too much!" Jory backed away from Duncan, even as the Warden pulled the dagger from his hip. His sword wavered, shaking, "There is no glory in this."

Duncan relinquished the chalice, and the clang of metal-on-metal soon faded as he easily dispatched of Jory's defence. Pressed back against the stone, the knight was run through, even as Duncan offered his apology.

The feeling left her hands as Neria stood there, Jory's mouth wide and his eyes blank as he shuddered on the blade that impaled him. Duncan closed his eyes and withdrew the dagger, stepping back and letting his quarry fall. Blood spilt from between Jory's fingers as he clawed at the ground, trying to escape the fate he had resigned himself to - trying to escape what his cowardice had wrought.

He - he just killed him. There was no hesitation, that this man wouldn't submit to the promise he'd made. And Duncan just killed him.

"But the Joining is not yet complete."

Neria could not bring her eyes from the widening pool of crimson that stained the stone beneath Ser Jory. She could feel their eyes turn to her as Duncan took the goblet and placed it in her hands. The metal was cold and heavy in her frail fingers, and within the liquid was viscous, thickened from the blood that had been collected.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

This is not a place for thought.

Lifting the metal to her lips, Neria took a great mouthful of the blood, swallowing and taking another before the chalice was taken from her grasp. Her heart raced and her throat burned as the sickening cold seeped down, each inch felt.

"From this moment forward you are a Grey Warden."

That taste would never leave her mouth, somewhere between rotten ash and icy bile, and Neria blinked, a tremor rising through her body. It was a scream, a chorus calling to her, a terror in her veins that became a frozen fire. All the stillness she had known, her collection, her will, evaporated into the hiss of discordant song that dug into her mind. Alistair and Duncan stepped back as she touched to her brow.

And then there was light and mist, like the Fade, her vision clouded. Something was calling her, the voice was accented by each slowing beat of her heart. Neria was alone in the wind, and it blew as though to erode her soul - she could feel it tugging, wanting to take it, wanting to force her into the threatening madness.

The air was dry, burning hot like she were leant over a forge, and she was but a peon in the vast sea that undulated and rose in the tide. But Neria stood against it, observant and listening, freezing fire inside as the dragon came into view. Its head swivelled over its horde, empty eyes searching and commanding.

When it roared, Neria shook, feeling the tremble into her toes, and still the wind blew, pulling her towards it on leaden shoes. The archdemon was a dragon - the Old Gods were. It called to her, it wanted her to come. It would make her bones sing, it would fill her with it, if only she submitted.

Neria closed her eyes, shuddering and feeling the pull, and it was only then she felt the cold stone beneath her. Her body was covered in a cold sweat that was exacerbated by the night air. She could hear her breath tremble as she opened her eyes.

Duncan - Alistair. She was nowhere at all. She was in the temple at Ostagar. She could feel the cold there in her veins, but she had dominated it and won - and was still alive.

"It is finished - welcome."

Putting a hand to the back of her head, Neria sat up. She must have hit her head on the stone when she fell. Life was about being strong now, she was an example for the world, living to stop the darkspawn and the Blight. Blinking lengthily, she felt her pulse throb in her temples, aching everywhere as though she'd been beaten. Alistair was talking.

"I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

On her feet once more, Neria steadied herself and took in a deep breath.

"How do you feel?" Duncan's eyes stayed upon her as though calculating, observing, waiting for something.

"That was more painful than the Harrowing," Neria tried to chuckle, wanting something to alleviate the reality of what happened. She could still see her two fellow recruits, dead and stiffening, in her periphery.

"The Blight demands sacrifices from us all. Thankfully you stand here as proof that they are not all made in vain."

They spoke briefly, and Neria followed Duncan in quiet shock to a meeting with the king. The attack would begin at dawn, with his majesty's men drawing the darkspawn into a fray so Teryn Loghain's army could flank them. Neria remained mostly silent, feeling out of place amongst the high ranked militiamen. With the strategy set, they dispersed, and Duncan walked with her back towards the fire.

"I'll show you to camp. I would like you and Alistair to meet with me before the battle begins. Until then, rest. This will be unlike anything you've ever faced."

"Yes, ser. Thank you." Neria responded by rote and followed him to the Warden's tents in the valley. Many of the men were up and readying their weapons, regarding her with a wary but welcome eye. They were seasoned warriors and their motions spoke of the repetition of their task - they were no strangers to battle. She was the only woman, the only elf, and she suspected the only mage.

When Duncan left her, she saw a familiar face, and Alistair beckoned her over. He was working a whetstone over his sword.

"We'll be sharing a tent, I hope that's alright."

Neria nodded and sat on the ground beside him. The air was rich with fires and ale, voices murmured and metal clinking as all throughout the valley, the army prepared to battle. Nearby a slender man fletched arrows with surprising haste, while another was checking the padding of his mail.

"I'm used to sharing space," she finally replied, her voice only loud enough to break over the crackle of the fire.

"Are there dorms in the Tower?"

Neria nodded and accepted some of the stew that was being passed around, a quiet thanks to the serving elf who gave it and disappeared through the tents. "The apprentices are. I was just about to move into partitioned room of my own."

"Oh? You did mention your Harrowing." Alistair shook his head, features in relief from the firelight. "I was only ever present for one Harrowing in my training. A girl had a demon put into her to see if she could resist. She couldn't." He tore at some of the bread he'd dipped in his stew, quiet before adding, "We.. the templars had to end it quickly."

"It's reassuring that you didn't seem to enjoy it."

Alistair raised his brow, looking from her back to his meal, "No - no, I always hoped the templars didn't enjoy that sort of thing. People don't ask to be mages."

When Neria looked at him oddly, he continued, "I mean - don't get me wrong, I don't like the idea of maleficars and blood mages running amok, like that woman in the Wilds, but..."

Neria soaked the waybread in her stew before eating it. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. An archer came and sat on the other side of her.

"Welcome, sister."

Swallowing, Neria nodded and accepted his offered hand, licking her lips before saying, "Thank you - it's Neria."

"Yader." The man had dark red hair that was tied back from his face, and his beard was a lighter shade, closely cropped to his skin. "Bad idea taking up with Alistair here."

"What?"

Neria grinned at the indignation in his voice, resting her bowl in her lap, "I'm not sure I have much of a choice."

"Hey -"

"He snores. Terribly." Yader stretched out his feet towards the fire, before deciding to shuck his boots and socks. Alistair grumbled to himself, seeming content to fill his mouth with food rather than dig himself deeper.

"With... with how tired I am, I'm not sure it would make much of a difference anyway."

Yader looked to her, expression drawn, "I am sorry about your fellow recruits." He leaned back on an elbow, eyes on the fire as he thumbed his nose, "It is never easy. The other man who was recruited with me didn't survive either. Though that was years ago."

"Did Duncan recruit you?"

"That he did," chuckled Yader. "I grew up in Gwaren - surprising that he even went there with how the Teryn is. I was going to join his army, I've been shooting a bow since I was very young. But Duncan got to me first."

"Gwaren," Neria said with awe, "Lots of history there."

"Indeed." Yader looked off and raised a hand to someone nearby, before pushing off and saying, "Excuse me. Need to take care of some things. See you on the field, sister."

She was sitting by a fire in a valley full of soldiers, on the eve of battle against the darkspawn. She'd killed men, she'd killed creatures and monsters, seen phantoms in the Wilds. Never in her life would Neria have imagined that things would turn such a way - could she have imagined it? No. It was far too much to be untrue.

It all happened because she turned on her closest friend. Isn't that what it came down to? Jowan. Where would he have gone? He was somewhere out there. She hoped he was alive.

The clunk of metal drew her attention - Alistair was dismantling his scalemail. Neria watched him a moment before looking back to the fire, feeling suddenly inappropriate. He was down to just trousers and his shirt when he caught her attention.

"We should probably get some rest. The battle could take a lot, we don't now when we'll be in camp next."

"Yes, of course. There?"

Alistair nodded, and Neria put her bowl with his. She ducked into the small tent with greater ease than he, and nipped at the inside of her lip as he spoke, "I'm there, uh, right. I'll wake you when we need to head up to meet Duncan. Not sure what he wants, but I got used to early hours in the Chantry."

Neria sunk into her bedroll, laying her staff beside it. The ground was hard, but it was warmer than the air outside. The firelight left shadows dancing over the heavy canvas, and she hugged her arms around herself. Running her hands through her short hair, she remembered what it had been like, its length.

Maybe abrupt change was better. Maybe it made things easier.

"G'night."

"Thanks, Alistair."

"Hmm?" He was already stretched out and halfway to sleep.

She'd never slept this close to anyone. Neria laid back. Even Duncan had kept a cursory distance between them. Life had changed so drastically. No more apprentices or mages to distract her, no more libraries full of books to lose herself in. No teacher's pet or praise for her magical work.

No. I am just Neria. Simply a Grey Warden and no more, waiting for the battle at dawn.

* * *

But dawn would never come.

The advancing horde blocked out the sun, the sky blighted black as though it were night. It brought with it a foul pressure, and lightning flickered in the distance. The tension in the air was proof of the unnatural storm that brewed.

Neria was accustomed to days and nights without change. Alistair not so much. They could hear the roar rise up in unison from the army below as they advanced towards the bridge that gaped the chasm. She had to pause to wipe the rain from her eyes, the droplets biting cold.

Their task to light the signal beacon for Loghain's army was meagre and less than threatening, but Neria was glad for it. Alistair quieted as they came out of camp and saw the fireballs in the air. Youthful exuberance faded as their mouths dropped, agape as a hurtling stone flew through the air, licked in unnatural fire, and smashed into one of the edifices of the stronghold. Rock flew, and the echo of the impact dissolved into the sounds of fighting and storm.

"Maker... come on, let's get to the tower."

Crews manned ballista on the bridge, and overhead the whizz of arrows flew through the darkness around them. They called out cycles of commands, the reload and shoot precisely timed, but it fell apart as men here and there were pierced and wounded.

"I can help them!" Neria pulled aside, but Alistair caught her arm.

"We have our orders! We have to ensure the beacon is -" His voice dissolved into the hiss of fire as one of the barrages from the darkspawn catapult hit the ballista. The wood took, and Neria was tossed back, skidding on the bridge. It almost knocked the breath out of her.

A flicker of memory flared, like a whisper from a dream as she looked off the bridge and saw the forest aflame. The horde was there, she could feel it tug at her soul, like an intolerable itch inside that couldn't be reached. It ached, she wanted to hear that song, sibilant and calling. No - no, she couldn't.

Alistair pulled her to her feet, and she smacked a hand on his arm to steady herself before they continued up the stairs on the other side. The sounds of battle faded, girded by the stone walls of the fort, and a group of soldiers came tearing down from further up the land.

"Maker preserve us! Yo - you're the Grey Wardens? The darkspawn, they've broken through and overrun the tower! Come up through the ground."

Looking towards the tower, Alistair motioned and drew his sword, "Then come with us."

"I-I, y-yes ser."

The clash of metal filled the air, overridden at times by the crackle of the bonfires lit and the now-and-then shudder of thunder in the sky. The first darkspawn she felt more then saw, the dark sky a blessing, their ravaged bodies and maws lit only by the flash of lightning and if they turned to the fire. Rain hit her eyes as she froze, an inexorable draw inside urging her to them.

"Come on!" Alistair yelled, his sword decapitating a genlock before he looked back at her.

The rain was intermittent and hampered both sides equally as they slaughtered their way through darkspawn, gathering the surviving soldiers that they could to aid them.

Up the steps of the Tower of Ishal, they paused only to catch their breath and Neria gathered her senses, deeply rattled from the combat. She could only hope it would get easier, and she was thankful for the hours training and spellcasting in the Tower. Never had she thought it would have much use, the endurance, the mental exercises to steel her will, but here she was.

The heavens erupted with forked fire, touching down in the nearby hills, and the force of the clap shook the stone as they pushed open the doors of the tower. The slaughter outside would be lost to them as they battled through legions of darkspawn, pressing even as they bled to work up through the tower.

A tower, Neria thought, I should be comfortable here. What would I do if my home were overtaken as this? It brought a pit into her gut, even as her body strummed at the proximity of another band of darkspawn. They were nearly to the top - they had to be. Collapsing in the stairwell, one of the swordsmen fighting with them begged for a moment of breath.

Neria took a knee by Alistair as he closed his eyes, and raising her hands, murmured the soft words that focused her magics and closed the more grievous of gashes that were troubling him. She was weakening, another test of her resolve. Tucking her fingers beneath her cap, Neria smoothed her hair away from her eyes, the sweat on her skin easily holding it.

"Thank you," he murmured, tightening the grip on his sword as he rallied the rest of them up.

The quiet as they trudged up the stairs was unnerving, but not so much as the sight beheld when they stepped onto the upper floor of the tower. The fortitude that had been sustaining Neria through the fight cringed away as the massive beast stood, blood still dripping from its maw. The ogre cast away the half a man he'd been chewing on as it saw them - as it felt them approach.

For there could be no denying that Neria felt it present, sickly tugging within, this largest of the darkspawn she'd encountered.

"Maker..." Alistair said from beside her, before their eyes met and he locked his shield arm and ran forward to draw it off.

Hanging back, Neria manoeuvred along the wall, trying not to tremble as the ogre roared, and the soldiers hacked at its legs. Steadied against the stone, she summoned her strength and iced down one of its arms. Heavy and chilled, the ogre turned, looking for the source of its suffering. It swung the arm and battered Alistair and the others out of its way before running towards her.

Neria shrieked and scrambled past a pile of gnawed bodies, and it took all her gall to sprint to the other side of the room and not look back. The ground shook beneath her, heaved with each of the ogre's steps. Spinning, she coated her hands in rock, and the reflection of the act solidified before her. Focusing her will, the boulder hurled through the air and battered into the ogre's knee, momentarily tripping it up.

Its dark eyes tracked her, and the ogre bellowed a cry that reverberated off the walls, and clenching her teeth Neria centred herself. Even as floorboards splintered under one of its steps, she held her ground and the power blossomed from her gut, before frigid air erupted from her fingertips, coating its legs with ice and rooting it down.

Infuriated, the ogre backhanded Neria and sent her sprawling across the floor. Rattled, she rose on shaky legs and saw the glint of Alistair's blade carve up the side of the beast, drawing from it a tremendous roar. One of the other soldiers flew, swatted away like a fly by the ogre's tree-trunk arms.

Neria tightened her hand in a fist, casting a barrage of stone at the beast again, and this time it cracked it in the face. The ice fractured around the ogre's leg, and it stumbled, disorientated. It seemed just enough time for Alistair, who steeled his legs and swung his sword in an arc across the monster's neck.

The cut opened wide, a flap spurting blood, and the ex-templar yelled out as it leapt at the beast. The force knocked the ogre back, and Alistair didn't hesitate to run up its chest and bury his blade to the hilt in the creatures face, cracking through with a sickening crunch.

Head ringing, Neria stumbled back, just barely keeping herself standing as Alistair dragged himself over. She couldn't tell if it was his blood or the beast's that coated his armour.

"We've probably missed the signal," he panted, "Hurry, light it." Alistair stabbed his sword into the planks to steady himself.

Limbs crying in protest, Neria scuttled over to the hearth, and kneeling down she summoned a flame to light the powders that would ascend the chimney and burst through the pinnacle of the tower. Seeing the flame take, she stood up, sighing out.

"Hopefully the teryn saw it in time."

Neria nodded, looking at the other soldiers as they collapsed. She was about to speak with she felt something ill within. Alistair met her gaze and plucked his blade from the floorboards, when the doors to the stairs burst open. Moving into a defensive stance, they scarce had a moment before darkspawn spewed into the room.

Frigid air erupting from her hands, the advancing hurlocks froze in place, but Neria's distraction was enough, and she cried out, pinned back to the ground as two, and then another arrow, pierced through her body.

Laying on the ground, Neria could hear her pulse in her ears, it was slowly overwhelming the sound of fighting around her. Alistair, he was calling out, and another man was screaming. The ground felt wet and warm at her back, and she just couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.


	5. Out of the Wilds

"Neria, dear, wake up."

That voice, it seemed so familiar. Neria lifted her head from the table. She must have fallen asleep studying. Bright light hit her eyes as a curtain was drawn back, and she had to put a hand over her eyes.

"Fell asleep on the books again?"

"Cullen?"

The man turned at her voice, expression amused. There was stubble on his cheeks, and he wore simple clothing. "What is it, bad dreams?"

Neria rubbed a hand over her cheek, feeling the imprint of her book there. Open on the table underneath her arms was a treatise on curative plants. "What am I doing here?"

"Well," he softly laughed, "You had been reading but it seems you fell asleep. Did you not get enough rest last night?"

Her cheeks flushed brightly as he rest a hand on the table and leant down to kiss her, and Neria pulled away, "That's not what I meant."

Cullen easily drew her up to her feet, and it was the round plumpness of her belly that kept them from being close. He caressed over the swollenness, and Neria felt a stab of pain. Tensing in his grasp, Cullen grew animated.

"Is it time?"

"This isn't right," Neria looked away, the pain creeping from her belly through her chest and shoulder, each point a spike that throbbed. She pulled away and stumbled through the generalities of the room, only seeming satisfied when she found the door and sunk her grasp on the knob.

"Neria, love!"

Falling through the door, Neria was met by the unmistakable scent of the lake, fishy and crisp in the night. Beside her Jowan turned to snap the door shut.

"Come on, Neria!" He hissed, taking Lily's hand and beckoning to her with the other. "We have to go before they notice."

Taking in her surroundings, Neria saw the cloud mottled sky overhead, and the sliver of a moon illuminated the shores of Lake Calenhad. She snatched the hem of her robes and hurried after Jowan, keeping to the shadows as they sprinted down to the shore.

"I can't believe they hadn't sent your phylactery to Denerim - what luck!" Ahead, Neria could see a boat waiting as Jowan looked at her, "I'm glad you escaped with us, Neria. We can all be free now."

"Maker guide us to safety."

Neria couldn't find any words, and she stopped on the shore, some feet back from where they clamoured into the rowboat. She couldn't see the other side of the lake, and the clouds overhead lacked certain clarity. It was like they disappeared.

"Come on then, we can't hesitate."

"I can't," she whispered. A stab of pain rose through her chest, poignant in her shoulder, as though the muscles had been torn. Clutching it on instinct, Neria groaned, and already Jowan and Lily were pushing off. A chill ascended through her, and she had to struggle for breath, trembling.

Opening her eyes, the spell melted away, and the young apprentice laughed in triumph across the room. The walls were lined with books, and she could see the templar by the door shake his head.

"Excellent execution," she admitted, drawing a deep breath. It was difficult to breath, and she was fatigued. Her hands looked all wrong, far too old, and something made it difficult to think.

"Is that enough practise for today, First Enchanter?" The young man asked, a sweat on his brow from exertion.

"Yes, yes," Neria waved him away, and moved by to sit in the nearest chair, "I have other things I must do." She was getting too old for this.

It seemed so easy to let go, that if she just did, everything would ebb away and leave some purity of rest. Neria lay her head back on the chair, her bundled white hair a pillow of its own.

Perhaps if she read, it would be enough to keep her eyes open. Taking up the book on the armrest, she saw it devoid of words. Furrowing her brow, Neria flipped through the pages, only to be met with fuzzy scribbles and indecipherable gibber.

Some echo of desire tugged at her soul, a yeuk, a yearning and almost a song, and even as the templar from the door came close, Neria's gaze was already lost to her thoughts. She pulled the pages out, and as they fluttered from her hands they became so many things, butterflies, bats and birds, little white dragons that crinkled when they flapped their wings and swirled up.

Will I wake? I need to wake. I cannot stay here. I will die if I stay here.

"M'lady, perhaps you should rest?"

Neria didn't heed the voice, if it was the templar's or otherwise, thinking of her body, of the flesh, thinking of being whole. The pain came again, and she almost closed her eyes, cringing and touching just above her heart. Aged, withered fingers slipped in the blood that spilt, and she had to steady her breath.

Then there was nothing, and just the sound of wind. She could see a shape, a shadow, a form, somewhere just across the void of the mute-coloured world. She could feel and hear the wind, but her hair hung dead against her cheeks. Neria couldn't be sure how long she sat there, trying to focus on the being, her own body lead in its seat.

But her mind was clearing.

 _Another time, another place._

Shivering, Neria finally opened her eyes, breath trembling as she felt the bed beneath her, the roughness of the sheets against her skin, and every ache her body had to offer. There were details in the ceiling, cracks, enough so that she knew it was real. Sitting up, the sheet covering her fell away. The gravelly, deep voice still echoed in her thoughts as another overrode it.

"Ah, mother will be pleased to see you awake."

Neria touched over where she ached, her skin relatively unmarred. She had been healed by magic, she knew the feeling. She remembered the arrow in her, and the hollow pain left even after the skin was closed. So much of her felt that way right now, weakened and coming apart.

"You..you're the witch from the Wilds."

"Morrigan, in case you have forgotten." The mage moved closer to the bed, her hands clasped together as she said, "Mother was able to heal your injuries - they were quite extensive, but her power is greater than mine."

Staring at the fire, Neria tried to pull the strings together, and the sounds of war rang in her ears as she asked, "I - I was at Ostagar. What happened? How did I get here?"

"Mother saved you and your friend from that tower - you would have met your end there, otherwise."

"Alistair? He's alive?"

Morrigan almost rolled her eyes, "Yes, and quite inconsolable, I must say. Between blubbering over you and your fallen comrades, tis rather beside himself."

Neria looked back to the fire, pulling the sheet up over her nearly naked body as she realized her state. "How did the battle go?"

Looking down briefly, Morrigan said, "It seems that the man who was to answer your signal... quit the field. The king's army was massacred. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

Where was her breath? Why was it so hard to breath?

Neria touched a hand to her cheek, feeling the dampness of tears, and she hung her head down at the weakness. Closing her eyes, she focused on the pop and crack of the fire, and it seemed the other woman allowed her the brief reprieve.

"There were no survivors?" she weakly asked.

"Stragglers yes, but that valley is now filled with darkspawn... you would not wish to know what is happening there."

The visage of the ogre ripping into the solider as they came up the stairs flickered in her mind, and Neria shuddered. She pulled her knees up to her chest, squeezing them tight as she steadied her breath.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

"I - 'twas not me, 'twas my mother who tended your wounds." Morrigan shifted uncomfortably, and she motioned nearby. "Your clothing is there. I did my best, but some stains simply would not clean. No doubt you wish to speak with your friend." She turned and ascended the wooden ladder at the back of the room into the loft, leaving Neria with some privacy.

Outside, Alistair stood by a small pond, his arms crossed as he looked over the still water in a daze. It took a moment for him to turn at the sound beside him.  
"You... you're alive." His face was ashen, eye unfocused, "This doesn't seem real."

Neria hugged herself, nodding as she furrowed her brow. Alistair looked over the marsh once more, undoubtedly to where the hints of blighted clouds were in the far distance.

"How long has it been?"

Giving her a slow, appraising look, Alistair watched her with weighted eyes, "At least a week, so far as I can tell. Morrigan's mother ...said you'd been unconscious that long."

Neria rested a hand on the front of her neck, nodding again as her lips formed a line.

"There is no need to speak of me as if I were not here, boy."

The Wardens turned to see the old witch approach, eyes wizened and skin like tissue. Overcoming his embarrassment, Alistair and Neria spoke with her – Flemeth, the supposed Witch of the Wilds from legend. What she may have been mattered little though, and Neria was quick offer her thanks, for the information and their lives.

"No, thank you. I couldn't very well let the last of Ferelden's Grey Wardens perish just as a Blight comes."

Alistair waffled as he exhaled, uncrossing his arms, "But we can't stop the Blight on our own. Maker, if Arl Eamon knew what Loghain did... I know him, he's a good man. There's no way he'd stand for it, he's the queen's uncle."

Neria's pulse throbbed in her ears, a bit at a loss as she saw Alistair gain animation, more words exchanged between them. They needed an army to try and accomplish anything...

"Morrigan was able to retrieve your treaties."

"What – that's right! Dwarves, mages, elves, they've all sworn to aid the Grey Wardens during a Blight."

"I don't know about you, but to me, dwarves, elves – that sounds like an army."

"So – so can we do this?" Alistair was looking at her as he spoke, "Rally an army to take on the archdemon?"

Neria did her best to conceal her emotions from her face. There was idealism in his voice, something that pulled her from the hazy edges of her injuries. All the changes, the shock was compounding into a hardened core. She couldn't be who she was.

But she wasn't that mage apprentice anymore, was she?

"Of course. That's what Grey Wardens do, right?"

* * *

They made camp in the Wilds that first night, stopping where Morrigan indicated they should be safe. Trudging through the rugged terrain, there had been more than once when the witch had snapped at their sluggish pace. It was clear she was none too pleased to have been shuffled off by her mother to aid the Grey Wardens.

Had grief and injury not weighed so heavily on Neria, she may have been more inclined to approach the apostate. A woman who had lived a different kind of isolation, experiencing all the world had to offer but with none of the social graces. She was proud and arrogant in her own right – though when a pack of wolves approached and Morrigan became a giant spider to chase them off, it reinforced that it was not without reason.

Neria tended to the fire as Alistair unpacked provisions, just enough for the two of them. Morrigan had separated herself, setting her own encampment and fire ten yards off. It granted them each a modicum of privacy.

All but strangers, Neria sat opposite Alistair, the dancing fire light between them. The talkative, sarcastic young man that had made an impression on her had evaporated.

They had odd pockets of food, meat and a grain wrapped in edible leaves, that Flemeth had given them. Neria had never tasted anything similar, but the textures were pleasant and easy on her stomach. Alistair had not eaten, resting his arms on his knees and staring into the fire.

The king was dead. Duncan, Yader – all the other Grey Wardens who'd been at camp. Faces she couldn't place, names she'd never know. Neria wanted the strength to rise, to lift the dagger she had in her things and practise as Duncan had shown her. Would he want that? How could she know?

Her cheeks warmed, thinking of the man she barely knew, who had freed her from the Circle, who had believed in her ability – how enamoured she'd been with the seeming romantic, adventuresome lifestyle of a Grey Warden. The Circle had been safe by comparison, isn't that what Irving had said? A place to protect the mages from the world, as much as the world from the mages.

"I'll take the first watch." Alistair had moved, his back to the fire to acclimate his eyes to the dark. "Not like I'd be able to sleep anyway," he added under his breath.

Neria glanced to Morrigan's camp, but the apostate was nowhere to be seen. Her backside ached on the cold ground, and even with the fire, the chill inside wouldn't relent. Beyond, she could hear the strings and chirps of the marsh, while overhead the stars dared not shine, hiding their eyes behind a thin veil of clouds.

"You sure?"

Alistair's reply was empty, "Yeah."

They were the most words they'd exchanged since leaving Flemeth's hut.

Shivering, Neria pulled the cloak from her things and wrapped it around herself. Lying by the fire, she watched the flames play, unable to tell the passage of time. Eventually, she fell asleep.

A face in the horde, while overhead the wings of a great dragon shuddered. The beat of pressure in the air – the air was hot on her face. All around the creatures moved and seethed, supplicant to the will that was a second heartbeat within.

And when the roar came, the air twirled with indigo fire, glittering in the darkness they made their home in. It chilled what was already dead, cold flesh, and the horde cried its reply, fevered, zealous, and bloodthirsty.

Trembling, Neria sat up, cloak tangled on her. The sky was still clouded, and in the dark she saw Alistair halt as she moved.

"You felt it too? We need to get moving." Kicking dirt into the fire, the smouldering logs hissed and sputtered. "I don't suppose you'd tell our... friend? I'll pack our things."

Clearing the sleep from her throat, Neria said, "Right. Of course."

The night was humid, and easily weaving in the dark, Neria went to where Morrigan's fire lingered as coals. There wasn't a bedroll or indications of a sleeping woman.

"Morrigan?" Neria whispered, hands still shaking from her dream. With a bit more volume, she hissed, "Morrigan!"

On the ground a body stirred, and Neria stumbled back, hand muffling a startled scream as a wolf lunged at her. The animal snarled and shook its head, the midnight fur giving way to wild tresses as it morphed.

Snatching up from the ground, Morrigan rose in place of the beast and spat, "What?"

Agape and awed, Neria regarded the woman before she found her voice, "The horde is advancing nearby. We must move."

"I will be ready in a moment," Morrigan grumbled, "Though I don't see how you imagine us to travel in the dark."

"I'm an elf," Neria replied, turning away at the witch's brusque manner, "We'll be fine."

"Oh, indeed."

Back with Alistair, Neria snatched her staff up. The man had already shouldered her pack along with his. With a soft word, her spellwisp appeared by her side, glowing dim green in the night. "So you may see where I go."

Alistair offered no reply, and when Morrigan wordlessly joined them, they set off, features ghastly cast in the sickly light. They trudged through the night, silent but for their steps and the sounds of frustration as the humans poorly picked them.

Morning crept into the sky as their feet grew heavier, and Neria paused on the road. The tug at her soul had lessened considerably, she was certain they'd evaded the bulk of the darkspawn. But there was still something...

"There," Alistair said, and over the ridge was a small band. "We should be able to handle it."

Upon moving closer, they saw a mabari in the fray, dodging axes and arrows. Hoisting his sword, Alistair darted to join him, and lingering back, the spells from the two mages soon aided in dispatching he darkspawn.

The hound plunked itself down before Neria, panting in obedient bliss like only a dog can.

"You? What are you doing here?" Neria secured her staff, looking at the mabari as it barked a reply.

"Is that the mabari from Ostagar?"

"I think so." The dog opened its mouth wider, tongue hanging out as it smiled and Neria asked, "Did you fight your way here looking for me?"

The dog barked again, and Neria seemed surprised, "Here I was just joking..."

"He probably knows you helped him," Alistair said, watching the dog as he sheathed his sword, satisfied that the darkspawn were gone. "Mabari do that – choose people – they call it imprinting."

"Yes, I've heard." Neria crossed her arms and looked at the dog. "Can you look after yourself alright? And fight?"

Standing up again, the mabari barked its assent, and Neria beckoned it to follow as they walked away from the battle scene.

"What?" Morrigan scoffed, "You're bringing that mangy mongrel along?"

"He's not mangy." Alistair dropped a hand to pat the hound's head.

"Least he smells better."

Alistair made a sound and walked beside Neria. They were quiet through the bluffs and marsh as the sun rose higher in the sky

"You... haven't felt anything, have you?"

"No," Alistair replied, his face drawn with fatigue and grief. He kept his eyes down, "Not like last night."

"It was almost as bad as the battle," Neria commented, and regretted it as Alistair stepped away. It set her temper into silence.

He was used to these feelings, he knew what to expect - and here she was leading them out of the Wilds towards Lothering. Never mind she'd spent her life locked away under templar's guard, or that she'd never been in a battle before.

But your family is still alive - the Circle of Magi is still there, living, studying, dreaming. Neria looked at Alistair, seeing how he walked with his chin down.

Whatever mental training templars underwent, she knew enough from her interactions in the Tower they could be as delicate a creature as anything. No, not delicate. Merely not hardened. That they grew up in the light of the Chantry, removed from the world as much as she had been.

But there was no Harrowing for a templar, no moment of live or die to cling to the one thing that mattered more than all else to a mage - strength of will.

The mabari was watching her, intelligent eyes inquisitive. Neria moved her hand, just at the wrist, motioning at Alistair. Reading her intent, the hound swaggered aside and bumped into him, eliciting and 'oomph' as the Warden adjusted his stride.

"Hey, watch it." The mabari did it again and Alistair ruffled the hound's head as his voice lightened, "Alright, alright, I'm making room, yeesh."

Morrigan crossed her arms and made a sound, glancing between the Wardens as she stayed otherwise silent. The hound stayed at Alistair's side till they rested at twilight.

Taking the first watch, Neria dug the dagger out from the waistband of her robes as soon as she could hear Alistair snoring. The mabari came and sat just out of reach, chin on his paws watching as she went through the motions.

"What? I know I'm not very good." Neria whispered, flowing through the exercise. She looked at the dog, and he tilted his head. "I suppose you need a name, don't you? Or should I be feeding you?"

The mabari made a half-way ruff, plunking its head down again.

"Something tells me you'd get yourself better food than anything I'd try and catch." Neria tripped over her robes, and the dog whimpered. "I'm fine," she reassured him, "Can you hunt?"

A subdued huff was her reply, as though she'd insulted him.

"Right, well," Neria stopped, arms fatigued and sweat on her brow as she realized she was conversing with a dog. "Maybe you can hunt for us too, sometimes?"

Plunking down by the fire, Neria patted and the hound sat against her. Leaning back, she could feel the warmth of the massive dog, its breathing deepening off into sleep as she drew on a piece of parchment. Smearing her fingers through the charcoal, she drew the fire and the camp together, with a wolf and mabari formed together in the rising smoke. When she had tired from it, she retrieved her journal to document testing she had done on a spell Wynne had given her at Ostagar.

She was dead now, wasn't she.

Swallowing the bubble of pain, Neria blinked lengthily, though it had scarce subsided when she began to write again. But she had succeeded in stemming her tears.

"Rest," came Morrigan's voice from the darkness beside her. The moon was out, growing full amidst the clouds, and some hours had passed. "I will watch."

Flipping the book closed, Neriak slouched deeper, wiping the black off her fingers in the dirt before she sniffed, "Thank you, Morrigan."

There would be no reply, just the steady eyes of a wolf over the quiet camp and the dying embers.


	6. To Lothering

It took more than a week to reach Lothering, their trail through the Korcari Wilds and Hinterlands zigzagged to avoid hazards Morrigan knew of, and the thinning bands of roving darkspawn that were too great for them to meet head on. It was little comfort that the horde had not pressed further north – for the lands were filled with refugees fleeing the terrorized lands.

More than once Neria pulled away to heal a family or straggling soldier from the king's army. Many died even as they tried to aide them. Morrigan grudgingly assembled poultices as they marched, coaxed into conversation about the use and types of plants in the wilds. After what came a day out from Lothering, Alistair grew even quieter.

The covered wagon was over-turned and spattered with blood. They may have kept moving after a cursory search for supplies, had it not for the ragged screeches. Hissing and spitting, the sounds came from the lee of the cart.

"Truly, I question how many times we must stop to kiss skinned knees and bolster the local rabble." Morrigan said, flipping through a crate of spoiled rations. "There are much more dire matters to attend."

Neria met Alistair's gaze – he felt it too, weaker, but the itching tug was there. Rounding the rear wheels, she crushed back against him at what was there.

Huddled over an indistinguishable corpse were five children of differing age. Their eyes were whitened, withered, and their skin was marred by blackened sores. Frail limbs tore at the body, eager to bring the bloody flesh to their ashen mouths.

"Maker preserve us!" Alistair croaked, immobile even as Neria backed across him, the clank of her staff on his armour drawing the children's attention. "They're tainted."

A feral hiss and growl grew from the pack, and as they rose, mouths dripping blood, Neria reacted. Hands before her, the needed prompt rose on her lips, and the frigid cone of air enveloped them. A gasp stifled in Alistair's throat.

The taint had seeped into the land around them, and the Wardens couldn't know if others had been sickened by it. Senses reeling, Neria could hear the throaty protests of the blight-maddened children as bits of ice fell from their skin.

She had to end it.

Poised once more, the strength drained from Neria as another blast of cold hardened the children. The crystallization crept over their skin, condensing white, and the tug at her soul evaporated.

She'd done it. They were gone. Freed from the taint to seek a place beside their Maker.

Nearby Alistair and Morrigan alike stared at her in shock.

"We have been careless," Neria whispered, unsteady on her feet as she closed a fist to stop the shake.

"You killed them," Alistair was pale.

"They had succumb to the taint! You said so yourself," Neria turned away, scarce able to stand as she blinked to keep back her tears.

"Twas necessary," Morrigan plainly stated, regarding the elf in a new light.

"Yes," Neria hushed, "And now we must burn it all. Like we should be burning any darkspawn we kill." She grimaced at Alistair, his expression dubious, "We are Grey Wardens. We are here to protect others from the taint. And we..." She lost her steam. "The ground is damp, it should prevent the fire from spreading."

By now, the effects of her spell had dissipated and the children had slumped to the ground. Stepping past Alistair, Neria pushed the small bodies towards the cart. Biting her lip, she couldn't keep her from crying, and a hiccup escaped. The mabari came and whimpered at her, head down to help her move them.

"M-morrigan, would you set the crates?"

"Aye..."

The witch moved away, and there was the telltale whoosh of fire as they ignited at her command. Still Alistair stood, lips in a grim line. Hands bloodied, Neria tore some canvas from the wagon and wrapped it around a splintered plank. Lighting the cloth, she foisted it upon him.

"Light the oxen. There is another body there," Neria croaked, sniffing in sharply.

Alistair didn't meet her gaze, attention caught on the mangled pile of slender limbs she'd assembled against the cart. He was away and executed her orders without acknowledgement.

Senses blurred, Neria couldn't keep from trembling as she wiped her hands on some moss. The hound came to her and whimpered again, prompting her to snap, "Get away from this!" Her breath shuddered, "Go stand watch."

Using the last will she could muster, Neria set the cart and bodies ablaze, pulling her sleeve across her mouth to stumble further when she was sure it would all burn.  
They marched away in silence, the mabari by Neria's side. Morrigan led them off the road after an hour or two of trudging, announcing they would make camp. Though it was only mid-afternoon, Neria went through the motions of building a fire in the shade of the ruins they settled in. Morrigan disappeared, and Alistair slumped into the numbness of cleaning his shield.

Mostly alone, Neria hugged the smelly mabari as he came to her, imagining she didn't fare much better. The hound rumbled and licked her neck. Fortitude ebbed, tears spilt down her cheeks and she lay across the hound. It nuzzled close, stretching out. A choked sob muffled against him.

"Ualan - because you are so strong when I cannot be," Neria whispered.

The dog huffed a little and nudged her. Neria lay with her cheek on the ribcage of her beastly companion, staring off through the hills. She quieted herself with a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes as she could keep it back no longer.

Across the ruins, Alistair hung his head, eyes reddened as he heard his sister in arms sob. What could he do? He was just a man – and probably not a very good one. Duncan would have known what to do.

The thought worsened the pain, sensitized to the tips, and Alistair's breath trembled as he dropped his head in his hands. Numbed and hollowed, he could only close his eyes to try and block the stifled sound of Neria's crying.

* * *

They arrived in Lothering the next morning, dispatching some bandits on the highway. With biting words and a crackle of fire in her palm, they quickly ran from Neria, catching both her human companions off-guard. Ualan just huffed, confident at the elven mage's side. Though as quick as she could be with her tongue, equally did they see her kindness.

Outside the camp of refugees, Alistair emerged from his gloom, bickering with Morrigan about their course of action, his gloomy disposition, and his penchant for following orders.

When Neria cut them off, Morrigan huffed, "At least you have the decency to take action, even if you end up weeping like a babe."

"Then next time you can kill the children," Neria snapped, and the apostate clamped her mouth shut.

The mabari lowly growled, prompting Morrigan to say, "Like you have mind enough to form an opinion. T'would be better if you learnt your place."

Morrigan strode ahead, her scant clothing and brusque manner straightening the farmer she questioned.

"I think you're doing right - that we're doing the best we can." Alistair commented, and it drew Neria's gaze. "Perhaps we should check the inn and the Chantry... who knows what's happening since... since Ostagar..."

They both looked away, Alistair brooding and following on her heels as Neria retrieved Morrigan and led into Lothering proper.

Unaccustomed to villages and people, Neria was easily drawn to the plight of others, elf and Chasind refugee alike. Even if the last month - had it truly been almost a month since she left - had been a trial by fire, it could not erase the naïve care that had been cultivated in the isolation of her upbringing.

And it surprised those she helped, fear and nerves were frayed by the advancing Blight. Morrigan's disapproving murmurs were pushed back until they were in the Chantry's yard.

"I am not going in there."

"Why, expect to burst into flames the moment you cross the threshold?" Alistair demonstrated the possible outcome with his hands as he spoke, adding a minor sound effect at the end.

"Tis not possible, but why would we," Morrigan motioned to Neria as well, "go where we are reviled?"

"It's just a building, ooohh," Alistair waved a hand, "See how it bears down, ready to crush the wicked - er I..." He stumbled as Neria furrowed her brow.

Morrigan laughed once.

Tired, Neria ran her hand over her mabari's head as she listlessly said, "You can wait out here if you'd prefer?"

"Fine," Morrigan crossed her arms, "I would not wish to leave you alone to face such a thing."

"Right," Alistair smirked, taking his small victory.

The inside of the church was filled with hushed chatter and movement, the pews and vestibules filled with refugees. The air was warm from bodies, and the scents of pasture and livestock mingled with the incense of the brazier and the familiarity of burning candles. Under it was the dusty murk of old books and parchment, the closest smell to civilization Neria could associate with.

Neria sighed and Alistair raised a brow, so she said, "I missed that smell."

"Oookay."

A blush rose on Neria's cheeks as she defensively added, "A library, it smells like a library."

"Uh huh." Alistair had a brief grin before he said, "Look, your favourite."

In the middle of the Chantry stood a group of templars in deep discussion. Neria was able to recognize the highest rank. Once he had dismissed his men, they approached, though immediately the templar raised his hands.

"Please, we can accommodate no more," An appraising eye over Neria and Morrigan, he followed with, "I am Ser Bryant, in command of Lothering's templars... and I would know your business here."

Lifting her chin to the man more than a foot taller than her, Neria said, "I am Neria of the Grey Wardens."

"I see... " His voice dropped, "I take it you do not know what has happened?"

Neria exchanged glances with Alistair before looking to the knight inquisitively.

"Teryn Loghain has branded all Grey Wardens traitors for leading the king to his death at Ostagar."

"What?" Alistair blurted, "That's ridiculous!"

Putting a hand on her comrade's forearm, Neria looked up to Ser Bryant and spoke in a hushed whisper, "The teryn abandoned the king - and the Grey Wardens - to die."

"While I could not believe the Grey Wardens would be so careless when we are in a blight, I cannot go against the teryn," Ser Bryant sighed, "Even if there is talk that he seeks to make himself reagent."

"How can he do that?" Neria asked no one in particular, playing with the sash of her robes.

"Some don't think he can - there is word from the Bannorn civil war is brewing." The commander briefly looked down, "The bann of Lothering has all but abandoned us, he marched with his troops when the teryn passed through. We're all the people have now.

"As if the Blight and a civil war weren't bad enough... the Arl of Redcliff is deathly ill and has sent his knights on a fool's errand after the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Andraste's ashes?" Neria put her hand over her lips as she glanced at Alistair.

"The Arl Eamon is sick?"

"If he is even still alive."

Alistair was at a loss, and Ser Bryant stepped closer to Neria as he spoke, "The most I can do for you is keep your presence quiet - I'd keep a low profile, if I were you. There's a hefty bounty on any Grey Warden's head - yours especially, m'lady."

"Me?"

"Aye, an elven mage with white hair, you're hard to miss."

Neria traced her fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Thank you, ser."

Alistair sank into a nearby pew, gauntlet-clad hand through his short hair.

"Oh, what now," Morrigan murmured, glancing over her shoulder at a templar staring at her.

"I grew up in Redcliffe, I was raised by the Arl before being sent to the Chantry." Neria furrowed her brow and sat beside the man as he continued, "This is just too much. I haven't spoke to him in years, and now... now when things are crumbling, he might already be gone."

Her small frame pulled together, Neria looked through the church. It might have made her uncomfortable, were it not for the familiarity of the watching templars and smells. It was the amount of people that left her uneasy. More than one looked at her oddly.

Staring throughout the Chantry, Alistair refocused on a man that strode to kneel at one of the altars, hands clasped before the candles in prayer. Up on his feet, he approached the knight, "Ser Donnell?"

Sighing at the disturbance, the knight rose to face him. It was a moment before they clapped arms and the weary expression warmed from the Ser's face, "Alistair - Alistair, is that you? It's a relief to see you alive, I thought you were dead for sure!"

"No thanks to Teryn Loghain."

"I can tell you, if the Arl were well, he'd have none of this."

Neria's eyes fell to the candles on the altar as Alistair and Ser Donnell spoke. She had seen initiates light them at – was Kinloch Hold her home anymore? What were the candles for?

Alistair dug something he'd collected from a templar's corpse just outside the town from his pocket, "I recognized the Arl's insignia... I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

Ser Donnell broke the seal on the letter and sighed, "Ser Henric was my partner – we were to meet here in Lothering. I have been praying for days that he would safely return... but he has gone to the Maker."

"These are dark times," Alistair said.

"Indeed they are... It seems I must return to Redcliffe and bring word of the brother and Ser Henric."

They exchanged a few more words on the particulars of the letter – most notably, the Chantry scholar who was researching the urn. Bidding adieu, the knight soon departed, and they wandered out of the church.

"I think we should head to Denerim – even... even if I didn't have a personal interest in helping Arl Eamon, he is still our strongest ally. The Grey Wardens also have a compound in the city, though I imagine Loghain may have done something to it..." Alistair rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.

"That's probably best. Heading into winter, I'd rather not be in the Frostbacks. Maybe we can learn more of what's happened to the order."

"Listen to you two," Morrigan idly commented, "One would almost think you knew what you were doing."

"Well don't let me fool you," Neria smirked, "I'm under no illusions about myself."

* * *

"Are you actively trying to make me feel unwelcome?" Morrigan asked as they prepped the nightly camp. After brawling in the tavern and having a lay sister join them, the apostate was none too pleased.

"You saw her fight, Morrigan." Neria was kneeling, her robe hiked so she could sew a seam that had ripped in the fight.

"Yes, well, if you hadn't noticed, she also seems a few arrows short of a quiver."

Neria continued to stitch as she murmured, "I'm sure she can fletch some more."

"Ha, ha," Morrigan was exasperated, and she followed by saying, "For that, you can enjoy the watch on your own."

Alistair was picking at something on his boot with a stick as Neria finished her sewing and sat beside him. "How are you keeping?"

"Not the best," he murmured.

Neria took a spine from the pouch on her hip and idly chewed it, the silence stretching before she asked, "Did you want to talk about Duncan?"

Standing up, Alistair spoke more quietly as Neria followed him from the fire, "You don't have to do this, you know? I know you didn't know Duncan very long."

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his, and all of their loss." They walked together around the camp, patrolling the edges at a slow pace, "I suppose... I want you to be able to rely on me. I need you – you know a lot more about being a Grey Warden than me. Or even just about... everything."

"I wouldn't say that," Alistair murmured. He crossed his arms, frame smaller out of his armour, "Have you ever lost someone close to you?"

Neria looked down, backlit by the fire, "No... not, well, since I was taken to the Tower."

"I forget you grew up there, you know." Alistair watched her, "This must all be so..." He shook his head, "I've been stupid and selfish, here – here I've been wallowing while you're thrust into the world, and not having a good time of it either."

Cheeks darkening, Neria chanced to look up at him and said, "No, I understand... I'd be put off if you were fine."

Alistair chuckled and said, "Maybe I'd get along with the witch over there if I was."

"She's not so bad."

"What? Are we talking about the same person – Morrigan? Not the 'oo pretty colours' crazy Chantry sister we've taken in."

Neria couldn't keep a smile away, and her loosely closed hand touched over her lips to keep herself quiet. She cleared her throat and replied in a whisper, "Morrigan never grew up around people – and you met Flemeth."

"That may be, but Maker, she's an apostate!"

Neria's features hardened, "I thought you said you never wanted to be in the Chantry – not your thing, no choice in the matter."

Alistair shrugged with his hands as Neria walked away, "What – no, I didn't, I," but she threw the flap of her tent behind her, ending their conversation.

"Smooth," Alistair sighed, crossing his arms and stiffening as he looked over the fields. "Suppose first watch is mine then. Staying up with me?"

The mabari he directed his question at huffed from his place by the fire, rose, and ducked into Neria's tent. There came a soothing hush of sound, and in another moment, droplets of rain pattered on Alistair's head.

"Great..."

Neria roused them at dawn to track down the contingent of bandits that were terrorizing incoming refugees and the land holdings closest to town. She hoped the coin from the chanter would be worth it.

Ualan head butted Leiliana as she rose, and the bard lightly laughed, "You are so big, I don't know what to do with you."

The mabari barked and Leiliana clicked her tongue, "Is that so?"

Reaching the fields as the sun broke the horizon, Neria stopped in the shade of a copse of trees.

"You know, you are all very quiet considering you are less strangers to each other than to me," Leiliana said.

"Why are we stopping?" Morrigan asked, deliberately ignoring the bard's comment.

Chewing at the inside of her lip, Neria said, "I've never done this before."

"Don't look at me," Alistair added when the women looked at him.

"Hmm," Leiliana mused, "Perhaps we should have brought the hound."

"Ualan."

"Yes, he could have chased them out. I suppose I will have to do," Unshouldering her bow, she handed it to Neria before she could protest, and Leiliana moved down the path through the fields of drying beans. The plants were damp from the night shower, but yellowed and heavy with swollen stalks, cracking in any breeze.

Crying out in surprise, Leiliana pitched forward, an executed move that made Neria lurch.

"It's an act," Morrigan chided.

From the fields, darkened figures rose, and the group of bandits closed in on Leiliana.

"Ready yourself," Morrigan hissed to Neria, and as the men grabbed at the Orlesian, the witch's spell took hold. Her obtrusive, spidery form burst forth over the fields and alarmed cries rose from the thieves.

"Maker, talk about drama," Alistair muttered, charging after her.

Able to hang back, Neria's spells caught the bandits, tripping their offensive. A shrill whistle blew, and the thud of paws joined with a howl. Kicking Leiliana as he rolled, a bandit commanded one of the advancing mabari towards Neria.

The stone she was in the midst of manifesting shattered into nothing as the hound barrelled her over. Screaming, the elf barely raised an arm in time, and the war hound's jaws clamped down. Her arm crunched as it shook her like a rag, blood spattering its muzzle.

With one paw it pinned her, goring her arm as it growled, and the pressure on her chest clipped the air from Neria's lungs. She could only breath again as the hound yelped, its jaws releasing as it was battered away. Darkness threatened the edge of her vision, and she heard Alistair yell, mingled with another yip and the thud of combat.

Trembling on the ground, the elven mage couldn't rouse herself. Her body felt crushed, lungs at odds with the air, and there was a sticky warmth seeping over her. She couldn't tell the passage of time, closing her eyes at the sky for its overzealous brightness.

"Oh, Maker – Neria!" Alistair's voice tugged her from the sludge, "There's so much blood."

"Twas much worse when mother retrieved you from the tower, she will live."

Neria hissed as she was moved, and the air was burning oil down her arm as her sleeve as pushed back. Morrigan briskly bandaged her arm to staunch the bleeding, and her fellow mage found it easier to breath.

"Quite the scare for your templar friend," Leiliana said as she helped Neria up, and Alistair scooped in to the mage's other side.

"It's Alistair - and I'm not a templar!"

"Yes, I know," she lightly laughed.

Their voices rose again as Neria nearly slumped, and the elf leaned heavily into the arms of her friends.

"Let me down," she whispered.

On her knees in the dirt, the mage found enough strength to heal her wounds closed, staunching the bleeding. The poultice almost soaked through, Neria accepted a hand to get back up. The throb was still there, and she was light-headed from the loss, but it wouldn't get worse.

Wandering back to Lothering, Neria noticed a large man in a cage outside the towne fence. Leiliana leaned closer to her, "The reverend mother says he murdered an entire family with his bare hands, even the children."

Neria took a few steps closer to the cage and asked, "Is that true?"

Head bowed, the man replied, "Yes," before resuming his prayers in a foreign tongue.

"He's qunari," Alistair said, doing a double take at Neria when she stared at him. "What, I figured you hadn't seen one before."

"I haven't." Neria walked up to the cage, looking over the man's ash-dark skin and white, braided hair. His features were fierce despite his obviously weakened state, "Who are you?"

"I am not here to amuse you, elf," the man rumbled in his chest before adding, "I am Sten of the Beresaad, vanguard of the qunari people."

"I am Neria, a Grey Warden." The mage touched to high on her chest, eyes still rooted on the man. His cheeks were gaunt. After inquiring as to his station and purpose in Ferelden, Neria asked, "How long have you been in there?"

"A Warden you say?" The man watched her with empty eyes, considering before he said, "Twenty days, perhaps more. I have lost count."

"Without food or water?"

"Yes."

"Tis a terrible thing, that this proud and powerful creature might be left here for the darkspawn." Morrigan mused. "It would be a mercy to release him rather than leave him as prey."

"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that."

"I suggest Alistair take his place."

"Yes... that's what I would have expected..."

Neria met the qunari's gaze unblinking, even as the unease in her stomach grew. She was exhausted physically and mentally, but there were things she didn't recognize in his eyes. Would hers look like that some day? Was there some necessity in his actions?

"Why did you do it?"

Unfazed, the qunari replied, "It is of little consequence now, my life is forfeit. I suggest you leave me to my fate."

Neria crossed her arms and walked away, and soon Leiliana was at her side as she trudged along.

"Every man deserves a chance at redemption, surely."

"Then go to the Chantry with Alistair and seek his release into our custody. I... I need to go rest." Neria kept her slow pace, wandering back to their camp with her dog and Morrigan as the bard veered off with Alistair.


	7. Onto the Road

Laying in camp some time, Neria barely noticed when Alistair and Leiliana returned with the qunari in their company. Neria moved despite her body's protests, weakened from blood loss. Dressed in loose trousers and a shift, she rummaged through some of the armour they'd salvaged, collecting Alistair's spare set. It had been too large, but now seemed fortuitous that it had been kept. She dumped it on the ground by Sten.

Lifting his head from his meditations at the irritation, Sten looked at the armour and said, "This is poor quality."

Stopping with her jaw slackened open, Neria crossed her arms and said, "Oh, really?"

"Yes."

Retrieving the only other sword they had, Neria stabbed it into the dirt amidst the armour and said, "Then don't wear it." Cradling her arm against her body, Neria slumped by the fire and Ualan licked her hand.

"Thanks," she whispered, and the mabari lay against her back. She had been holding off sleep in her weakened state.

Having shucked his armour, Alistair sat beside her, sweat and blood stains in an odd pattern on his clothing where straps or mail had covered. "Hey, your robe looks like they might make it."

They were hanging nearby drying, mostly free of blood but still torn.

"Your concern is touching," Neria sat up, pulling the loose clothing on her frame to try and get more comfortable.

"I heard it was touch and go, so I'm glad to see them pull through."

Hugging one of her legs, Neria grinned and rest her cheek atop her knee, "There may be scarring."

"Oh, the poor thing," Alistair broke some of the waybread he had and offered it to her. His voice lightened, "So what about you?"

"I'll live."

"That's a relief. Wouldn't want you to..." Alistair sobered and Neria looked down.

"Thanks for saving me."

"We're in this together, I get that now. No matter what motley of weirdoes you get to follow us."

Neria giggled, absently toying with Ualan's ears as he slept. There was a rumble in the dog's throat and he rolled to expose his belly.

"Look at that, he knows we can't resist," Alistair laughed. Both of their hands found his belly, scratching and rubbing roughly to shake the hound, much to his enjoyment. "If only there were some way to turn this power on the darkspawn, we could handle the Blight for sure."

Neria stopped and laughed, and Ualan let his tongue hang out, back leg twitching as Alistair still scritched his belly.

"What was it like?"

"Hmm?"

"With the other Wardens?"

Morose in the memories, Alistair patted the mabari's tum and the dog rolled over to nuzzle Neria's back. "They were good men – family, really. A Grey Warden leaves everything behind when he joins the order, so all you have is each other. Some of them..." He laughed slightly, plucking at the dry grass and tossing it into the fire. "Well, you met Yader – agh, what a womanizer."

"What?" Neria's cheeks flushed.

"Let's just say he wasn't just talking to you because you're a Grey Warden."

"Lucky me," Neria laughed.

"I know, right? One of the other wardens, Elrich, was with Duncan when he recruited Yader." Alistair stretched his feet towards the fire, "I don't know if I believe it or not, but they were staying at a tavern that ehm.. also catered to other tastes..." he hurried through the last words.

"But the chaperones were trying to throw Yader out for some reason, it was three on one, and the man took them. The proprietress hit him with a chair while he was distracted," Alistair laughed, looking to the twig he fiddled with, "Like you want to hear about these things." Alistair looked at the fire, quietly adding, "I think Duncan had a soft spot for... well, what most consider less than savoury individuals."

"Thanks for that."

"Not what I meant," Alistair smirked at her before the expression disappeared, "I often wondered if it had to do with his past. He wouldn't speak of it."

"You know he travelled with King Maric when he was young?"

"I'd heard rumours, but – wait, how do you know that?"

"I had asked him some of it when we first met." Neria tried to clear her throat, a flush on her cheeks, "And it's in some of the... less accessible history books the Circle has."

"Why does that make me uneasy..."

Grinning, Neria said, "What harm..." She bit her inner lip and looked down.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Neria forced a weak smile, "I just need rest."

"Of course, so thoughtful of me to keep you up."

"No, it was nice... thanks."

Ualan curled closer as Neria lay down, and Alistair rose to meander about camp, before settling to chat with Leiliana. Their hushed voices, the breathing of her hound, and her weakened state coaxed Neria to sleep.

There it waited, the vice for her soul and the blood in her eyes. It could see her over the lands, she was certain, though as its attention drifted, the constricting oppression became frightened abandon. It was discordant, screams, gurgles, rattling bellows, but only if she listened – could it be beautiful?

Eyes will not open, sluggish and leaden, if one could see, it would disappear – but she can only see as it wills, only see with every set of eyes that has opened to its call. It marks her amongst the horde, and she can see herself as the dragon's head turns.

Like a low gong rumbling in her chest, timpani or quake, the sea parts around her – she will not listen or bend, no matter how it crushes her. Then the dragon's mouth opens, and indigo flames immolate, burning eyelids to let her see, and there are only her screams, flesh sloughing like a glove, melted and stolen.

Trembling in her sleep, soft gasps of fright hiccupped Neria's breathing. She twitched more fully awake, pale hair matted from sweat. Cupping her hand, thankfully unscathed, over her mouth, she stifled her cry.

"Dreams?" Alistair whispered.

The world came into focus, tactile and real, eyes her own, skin her own. He was sitting nearby, and Ualan whimpered.

"It's alright, go keep watch," Alistair said to the dog before moving closer. "I... I had terrible dreams after my Joining. I still do some. They say it's worse for those who join during a Blight."

"I-it was so real," Neria whispered through her fingers. Though there were tears on her cheeks, she forced herself to sit up.

"Did you see the dragon? They're real... the dreams. That – that's the archdemon talking to the horde. Some of the older Wardens said they could understand it when they started having the dreams again." Alistair massaged his own hands, eyes unfocused on the dying fire before he looked to her. "Just another of the many joys of being a Grey Warden."

"Thank you for being here," Neria croaked.

"Course, that's what I'm here for – to deliver bad news and witty one-liners."

Still trembling in the pre-dawn twilight, Neria pulled her cloak up and said, "Have you been on watch all night?"

"Maybe," Alistair murmured, poking at the fire with a stick.

* * *

Refugees kept streaming into Lothering, and others vacated into the Bannorn. Word of civil unrest and possible war kept the tensions high, while the injured and sick mounted in face of the dwindling resources. People spoke of the taint and the darkspawn, of corrupt forest creatures, making even hunting an uncertain venture. The Wardens and their few companions had been trying their best to aide what they could over the days they spent collecting enough gold and supplies to head on the road to Denerim.

"Please – please, just stay calm! We have grain from the fields. Everyone will get a ration," Leiliana spoke to the assembled people, and she raised a hand, "Let us give thanks to the Maker, for he who has faith will be unshaken by the darkness."

"But my lands, they're lost – and the bann has abandoned us!" One of the men cried, handing off his daughter to stand up.

"They killed my baby –" A woman cried, and her sobs were lost in the press of the crowed that pushed to where Neria and Alistair divided rations with a female templar. She wore a hood to conceal herself, her staff left at camp. A mage frightened people enough, and they didn't trust elves. Some of the villagers had already identified her as a Warden a few days previous, attacking them in hopes of claiming the teryn's bounty.

A child's shriek pierced the crowd, and people stumbled back over each other. Neria squeezed through to the edge as there was a scuffle, and the refugees panicked.

"Get back and calm down!" Neria called out, jostled, and there was a sharper scream as the child was injured. Something panged in her chest.

"It's th' taint! Halbert's wife!"

The people pressed back against the stonework of the Imperial ruins, and Neria caught sight of the woman with the child. The boy's face was reddened from crying, and his arm was twisted in her ashen grasp. The woman's face was showing the first signs of the illness, eyes milky and no doubt self-inflicted scratches festering down her neck. Alistair was at her side, and the people cringed away as he drew his sword.

Without thought, Neria raised and hand froze the woman in her place. In the jostle, her hood fell, and the combination of the two shocked the refugees into frightened silence. The woman's grip immobilized, the boy wrenched free into the arms of his father.

"Sh-she's a mage."

"She's tainted," Neria hushed to Alistair, and though his expression creased, he strode forward and impaled the woman, cradling her to his body. The people gasped, murmured prayers on their lips as some gaped, and others looked away.

"Ser, ain't you t'stop her?"

The templar was just as shocked, and Alistair lowered the body down.

"It's the Wardens – they's killed the king."

"Maker preserve us, she's maleficar, isn't she!"

"Don't be a fool," a young woman snapped, "They just stopped that woman – she was unnatural, she was."

"Knife-ears don't care about us!"

There was a murmur through the crowd, and a man spat, "I's their fault there's any darkspawn at all! Bloody mages!"

"Go back to your camps," Alistair stated, looking between them.

"An' who are you?"

But many had scattered as soon as his blade had run through. A rock clanked against Alistair's mail, and he frowned, "Sweet Andraste – we're trying to help you people!"

Neria pulled her hood, "They're frightened."

"It's not right of them," Leiliana said as the elven mage came by her side.

The templar reinforced Alistair's words, "Rations will be distributed at midday to orderly, quiet individuals. Remain at your camps till then." She turned to them, "I'm sorry about this."  
Alistair adjusted his armour, nose wrinkled, "Try to do some good and we get a kick in the pants."

"They've lost near everything, it is difficult for them to be civil," Leiliana said.

Standing by the fallen woman, Neria set her aflame. Her husband was still nearby, watching with a wary eye.

It was only going to get worse, she thought.

"Tha's not respectful, what's you doing to my wife. Not a proper pyre."

Neria didn't look up, casting a chill to encircle the fire and contain it. It was a moment before she said, "She wasn't your wife anymore."

Leiliana walked to him and said, "She is with the Maker, now. Would you pray with me?"

The man looked away from the burning body, weary and wrinkled. Nodding, he whispered, "Yes, sister."

Neria shuffled off and Alistair caught up with her. They walked out of the refugee camp, a wide berth given around them. Rounding through town, they stopped by the chanter to take the tasks they'd finished off the board.

"And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

They left Lothering that day. It was the last time they would see it standing.

* * *

Only following the West Road in low light, their travels often brought them along the shores of the Drakon River and in sight of the Brecilian Forest. Neria was awed by the trees and rapids, and the merchant they encountered – the same Bodahn Feddic they had rescued from a darkspawn incursion outside Lothering – showed her how to fish with a simple hook and line.

They moved more slowly with the merchant, but he let them store their tents and secondary gear on his cart, and was eager to purchase excess equipment and supplies they gathered from the bandits that tried their hand at robbing them. Much the same, there were stretches when he disappeared to a nearby hamlet or farmstead, while Neria and her camp avoided most places where people were, due to the rumours of Teryn Loghain's insipid hunting of any surviving Grey Wardens.

They encountered their share of darkspawn, the roving bands pushing towards the Bannorn from where the blighted sky could be seen at times, a stain that infected the clouds, rising high and sinister in the deep south.

Autumn was waning into the first snows of winter, but thankfully none had the sense to linger as of yet. The nights were cold, and often their breath was visible in the air.

"How are you faring," Leiliana asked as Neria stopped to investigate some corpses.

The elf raised her brow.

"I imagine you've never been through a winter outdoors."

"Oh," Neria pulled the cloak tighter at her neck, a wind whipping off the river. "N-no, no I've been through, well..."

"That's right, you were born in an alienage, yes? In Denerim?"

Neria nodded, holding the back of her hand over her lips and nose at the smell. In a moment she had set the bodies alight, dropping back to ensure they fully caught.

"What was it like living there? I have heard there is much poverty and squalor, if I go by what I saw in Val Royeaux."

"I... I was taken to the tower at a very young age. I do not remember a great deal about it," the rosy cold colour on Neria's cheeks darkened, and she hugged her cloak around herself. "But then, who treats a mage - an elf at that - with any sort of normality."

"I, oh... I'm sorry..." Leiliana furrowed her brow, "How clumsy of me, sometimes I swear I don't think..."

"Don't fret, it's alright," They turned back to camp as Neria said, "While I may have been outdoors some winters, it was in a city as a young child. Winters in the tower were always comfortable, as we controlled our surroundings with ease. Light, warmth, even scents really. And always the templars."

"I cannot imagine living under constant scrutiny."

"For the better of the common people - and the mages - was how the First Enchanter put it." Neria looked down. They were almost a week out from Lothering, "You saw the villagers. People fear it."

"It seems like you, or any mage, could do so much good in every day life. You do do so much, I mean."

Neria offered a weak smile to Leiliana, and the woman went to set up her tent.

"No, I don't want it!" A few paces away, Morrigan was arguing with Ualan, her voice heated until she made a frustrated sound, and the hound scurried away.

"I think he's got a crush on her or something. Maybe he has a thing for mages," Alistair said, and Neria came by his side. Ualan loped over and bumped into his legs, "Oh I see, can't get her so you come to me... well..." Soon enough he was rough housing with the dog.

Neria laughed and sat down on her roll. The sun was setting - each day it set earlier, bringing darkness sooner, necessitating their camps and making travelling more difficult. She looked at Sten, standing almost in meditation away from the fire, seemingly at ease in the cold. They had spoke very little, and she was quick to cease her attempts at conversation in light of his gruff manner.

It was hard to hold her ground when meeting his eyes necessitated looking up two feet.

"How are you not wearing that," Neria pointed at the woollen shirt tucked on Alistair's bedroll.

"That? That's for when it starts to get cold."

"It is cold," Neria murmured, and Alistair grinned.

Smacking the hound's belly, Alistair stood from the knee he was on and went, "Right, yes. Of course it is. Those of us raised by dogs don't feel the cold the same, I guess." He was still in the same linen and leather he'd always worn underneath his armour. Ualan barked his agreement.

Neria's expression broke and she shook her head, looking down.

"Here, use it," Alistair had snagged the sweater, putting it into her hands, "I'm not, no need for you to freeze. Suppose to work the other way, you make people freeze."

"Oh, I - no, I just have to get used to it, honestly." Neria's eyes dropped as she smiled up at him.

"Why, we've had to 'get used to' enough - not like I won't take it back," Alistair said, "It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, especially since I haven't worn it."

Neria brought the sweater to her nose, murmuring, "So it doesn't smell yet.?"

"Not dirty yet, thank you." Alistair smirked, "Don't act like you smell like sunshine and daisies all the time - especially since you started fishing."

"Hey - oh, oh my line." Neria ran down to the riverbank where the sapling she'd tied her line to was bent towards the current. Alistair followed on slower steps, and got there in time to see her hauling the line in arm after arm.

Pulling the fish up on shore, Neria floundered as she tried to stop the flopping stickleback. Much to Alistair's amusement, she cursed under her breath, and on the third try, hit the fish on the head with the pommel of her dagger. It twitched a bit more, but she stood up and tugged a rag from her pocket to wipe the water from her face and hands.

"I don't think I've ever seen that blade."

Tucking her hands under her armpits to warm them, Neria said, "Oh...it... Duncan gave it to me."

"Really?" Alistair's voice cracked in pitch, "He gave you one of his daggers?"

"I wouldn't say it was his, he just..." Neria's chill-warmed cheeks blushed darker as she said more quietly, "H-he was teaching me some things."

Alistair had an odd expression as he said, "Show me?"

"Oh-h no, no I couldn't, I'm not very good," Neria waved her free hand, before winding up the fishing line. "Probably more like actively horrible at it."

"Maybe you need to practise more."

"Just because you don't see me doesn't mean I don't practise."

"I'm sure you're not that bad," Alistair grinned, and he broke two switches off the willow on the bank. Stripping them of leaves, he pressed one into her hand and she put the fish down on the rocks. "Come on, try on me. Here, so we don't accidentally impale one another."

Neria could feel the blush on her cheeks. If anyone had seen her trying the forms Duncan had taught her, they'd never mentioned it - and she'd been glad for it. She didn't even know if she was doing any of it right. But here, a trained swordsman was asking for a demonstration.

"What we need is to find you a waster. That's what I had as a boy."

Moving into a starting position, Neria tried to think of her movements, the switch much lighter then the dagger and whipping through the air with a satisfying swish. "A-a what?"

"That's not bad," Alistair repositioned her elbow, and he said, "It's a wooden training sword. Good weight, but keeps you from really hurting yourself." He watched her move, and grinned as she stumbled ungracefully, and he cleared his throat to keep the amusement away, "Though maybe we'll just have to keep an eye out for a really good stick."

"Thank you for not laughing," Neria whimpered.

"I'm trying not to." Alistair watched again and said light-heartedly, "Keep your arm strong here, else you'll buckle when you actually hit something."

"I-I never picked up a sword before Duncan recruited me. I wasn't stuck in a Chantry for a decade with nothing better to do."

"Mm, very funny," Alistair meandered away, and there was the splinter of wood as he broke off a large branch. Picking up Neria's dagger, he stripped off the excess, swinging it around. It was more curved than he liked. "Use this, it has more weight to it."

Neria sighed, and the end of the stick plunked to the ground, "That's just my problem. I'm really not cut out for this."

"You kept it up, it must be getting a little easier."

"Not by much," she murmured. "Much rather just knock it over with a rock."

"If you weren't a mage, that'd be a lot funnier," Alistair chuckled.

Neria slipped on the rocks of the shore, and her impromptu sword flailed as she ended up on her back.

"You alright? Agh, sorry, not the best place to be doing this sort of thing." Alistair cringed, his voice changing, "Footing, be aware of your footing. Something the trainer would say when I was a boy. I - I've never tried to teach anyone anything."

Closing her eyes, Neria's cheeks burned as she slowly sat up. She shivered as the wind buffeted off the water, and she got up. Her cloak was mottled with dampness. "It's alright... let's just go to camp. I have enough fish now, and I'm starving."

Back by the roaring fire, Neria reluctantly removed her cloak and tossed it over a bush to dry.

"Will you take it now?"

Taking the woollen shirt from Alistair, Neria pulled it haphazardly overhead, and he grinned at the small triumph.


	8. Under the Brecilian Eaves

Encountering a stone bridge across the Drakon, they decided to foray into the edges of the Brecilian Forest. Another troupe of Teryn Loghain's soldiers had found them along the road, and though they'd fared well enough against the attack, Neria wanted to avoid what combat they could. Enough was going to come.

Standing under the northern eaves, Neria couldn't escape the reverence in her soul, like some part of her reached into this unknown to connect. The forest oddly showed no signs of late autumn that had been present through the rest of the land.

"I always read odd things about the Brecilian Forest, but this..." Alistair stood by Neria as they stopped to gain their bearings.

"They say there are spirits in the forest, that the Veil is thin and allows them to transgress," Leiliana said, twirling a flower she'd plucked from the verdant surroundings. "That human and elf alike still roam, their spirits forever caught by the great battle that took place here, long before the trees even grew."

The air was fresh, and Neria breathed deep. The chill wind had ceased, and it was unnaturally quiet beneath the canopy. The song of birds was absent, leaving the quiet rustle of branch and leaf overhead. Muted light filtered through, and she motioned for those to follow her amidst the undergrowth, trying to keep in sight of the river.

Passing by a tertiary stream, a handful of elves emerged from the trees, surrounding them without a sound. Taut bows trained on each of them as a woman with an intricate tattoo on her face approached.

"Halt, know you approach a Dalish camp, outsider. Identify yourself."

Exchanging glances with Alistair, Neria tentatively said, "I am Neria, and this is Alistair. We are Grey Wardens."

"I am Mithra. Grey Wardens you say? You should know better than to stray into the forest."

"Actually, we seek to speak with your keeper." Neria touched a hand to Alistair's arm, and he produced a scroll. "The Dalish once swore they would aide us against the Blight."

Snatching the treaty from Alistair, Mithra inspected the scroll before conferring with her companion in hushed tones.

"We will take you to our keeper, but not all of you. The rest may camp here, two of our hunters will stay."

Neria nodded and stepped back amongst her group. Bodahn was unhitching his horse, drawing it to the nearby stream while Sandal stared intently at a rock.

"Morrigan, would you stay and keep an eye on Sten? I'm not sure to bring him..."

"Why did you arm and uncage the man if you do not trust him to be civil?"

Cheeks flushing, Neria said, "Not everyone can come. I trust you to guard camp. There – is that better?"

Morrigan made a frustrated sound, "T'would be simpler to say such things. I will keep camp."

"Thank you..." Neria gathered her things with Leiliana and Alistair, before whistling to Ualan. They disappeared into the forest with the Dalish.

Two hunters remained, and the fair-haired male elf kept a hand on his bow, scowling at Morrigan.

"Is there something you want?" The witch demanded.

Huffing, the elf turned away with his partner, voices murmuring half-way in their lilting tongue and too quiet in common to be heard.

Neria watched the elves around them with curious eyes, their facial tattoos ranging from light tan to almost black. They strode silently, eyes on the forest around them, with her and the humans struggling to keep up.

"I do not know what help you will find. Our clan has troubles of their own at present."

"The Blight is a threat to everyone," Alistair said, hand on the haft of his sword.

"We know the threat of the darkspawn, shem," the male elf beside him snapped, "Our keeper has sensed the taint. We are in no condition to fight anyone."

Mithra glanced at him, sharp tongue chiding in elvhanen before her whisper in the king's tongue dropped below their hearing.

After some time walking in tense silence, Leiliana asked, "Do you know many legends about the Brecilian Forest?"

"Save your breath, shem." Another female elf said, casting a wary eye amongst them. Ualan quietly growled at Neria's side, and she touched his brow to ease him.

"I am sorry, I just have never met any Dalish before. I thought it better to ask what is curious to me than base on some... conjecture..." Leiliana quieted as Mithra's icy eyes turned on her. "Yes... well..."

Neria watched Mithra as she paused and turned a new direction, leading around ridge, upon which was a massive felled tree, its roots exposed and clung with soil.

"Wait to speak with Zathrian, our keeper," Mithra said.

They would speak no more until camp was reached, and walking amongst the aravels, the Dalish landships they lived a nomadic existence out of, the elves gawked as they went by. It was clear humans were not often allowed within the privacy of the camp.

Presented to Zathrian, they soon learnt of the clan's plights. A large portion of the camp was filled with cots, where the afflicted, ailing elves lay in pain, writhing and twitching as though in a high fever.

"We have returned to this forest in years past, but never have the werewolves been so bold. They showed a level of coordination I have never seen." Zathrian clasped his hands on his staff, walking slowly from where the injured lay. "A group of Hunters were lost yesterday as well. Some are certainly dead."

"I am so sorry, this is terrible," Leiliana said.

Though Zathrian narrowed his eyes, he did not look at the bard, but maintained his conversation with Neria. The sun was setting as he shuffled them off with scant explanation, though only after she agreed to venture into the forest and kill the spectral wolf that was the origin of the Brecilian's curse.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Alistair asked, sitting on a fallen log as he unfurled his bedroll. They'd been directed to a copse on the edge of camp where they could spend the night. They would set out at first light.

Neria was still standing, while Leiliana prepped the fire. Ualan had gone off into the woods. The elven mage watched the Dalish camp, seeing the community they had. There were statues and masks amongst the aravels, homage to their Gods.

She knew so little about them. The way they acted and spoke were a firm reminder that she was an outsider. She didn't really belong anywhere. Didn't that make for a good soldier though? What did she have to lose?

"Neria?" Alistair's armour clinked as he stood by her.

"Not much of what we do is really a bright idea." They both grinned.

"Suppose not."

"And we need them," Neria quietly said, crossing her arms, "It was fortunate we came this way."

"Seems surreal and half-insane most days," he said, swaying on his heels, "What we're trying to do."

"I try not to think about it."

Alistair chuckled, "What, the whole idea of raising an army to try and thwart a horde from decimating Ferelden and maybe all of Thedas, all the while evading those who hunt us after being deemed treasonous traitors-?"

"Trying not to think about it," Neria bristled and moved away, leaving Alistair behind. Standing under a statue, she looked up at the worn features and limbs.

"Anderan anti'shan, Warden."

"Ah, hello," Neria rocked on a heel – it was the keeper's first, Lanaya. "I am sorry, I shouldn't be wandering."

"Oh no, it's fine. You are guests in our camp – even if I know most of the clan is uncomfortable with your companions..."

"And me."

Lanaya clasped her hands together, something akin to pity in her eyes, "You are not Dalish, so they will be wary." She looked at the statue, "I was not borne of the Dalish, so perhaps I can more easily relate."

Neria glanced away, arms crossed in the growing chill of night. "I didn't choose where I was born."

"Such is the lot of elves - we often welcome back our brothers and sisters, though." Lanaya motioned for them to walk. "It is not an easy life, and there are many who do not stay."

"Life is not easy for most people, no matter what race they are," Neria replied.

"It is easier when you can be free – when you are not already seen as a lower class," Lanaya motioned to where Leiliana and Alistair sat by a glowing fire.

"They are good people..."

"Of that I've no doubt... but what of the cities? Are they filled with good people? I've heard thousands fit in the small spaces, in buildings of stone... that elves are segregated."

"I...well yes... the alienages. Denerim, where I was born, was large enough that I couldn't see its end from up the wall."

"I can't even imagine..."

"It has been many years since I was there either way. I... I am a mage. We are isolated from the rest of the world, guarded for our safety... and that of others. Though, I know my life was better for it..."

"Really?" Lanaya regarded her with thirsty eyes, "I –"

A call came across the camp. Zathrian was summoning her to the communal fire. "I must go for our evening prayer. I wish you the best of luck in the forest tomorrow – and I hope when this is resolved, we may speak further."

Neria bowed her head, "As do I."

Left alone by an ancient column, Neria lifted her face to the sky. Wisps of cloud dragged between the brightening stars. Her thoughts drifted back to their duty, her place – had she ever had freedom? Fixed stars in the sky, shine bright through the night, as free as you look, you have your place... had she always been living under a yoke?

Was it so bad if she did? Wasn't that responsibility – the duty and service to others, the burden Duncan had spoke of?

"Hey."

Neria looked down from her thoughts, putting a hand on her neck as Alistair stepped closer. "Thank you for lighting the fire."

"Something tells me it's easier when you do it..."

Shrugging, Neria looked back at the stars. Alistair's greaves clanked as he moved, and he adjusted his cuirass, a nervous habit, only half-clad in his armour.

"I... I wanted to apologize. Maybe I joke too much, at all the wrong times, but I don't ever mean to make things worse..."

Neria's shoulders drooped, and she ran a hand over her forearm, "I know, Alistair – no, you don't joke too much, honestly." She chuckled, "I don't know how we'd have gotten this far without your poor sense of humour."

"Yes, because I'm the only one who says stupid things and makes bad jokes."

Knocking sideways against him, Neria slowly smiled, "I've appreciated you taking up that duty without even having to ask."

"Thanks," Alistair smirked and crossed his arms as they strolled back to the fire in the dim light. He only stumbled once. "Here I came to try and say something nice and I just end up being mocked – that hurts, I'll have you know."

Relaxing more, Neria rest a hand on his arm, "Oh good Warden, I am truly sorry."

"As you should be," he harrumphed and sat in the grass by the fire. Neria sat beside him, noticing her bedroll was already prepped nearby. Alistair idly unstrapped the remaining bits of armour.

"Do... does being here make you think about what it would have been like if you were raised by the Dalish? You might never have been sent to the Circle."

Opening a cloth with dried meat inside, Neria tore a piece up as she said, "Perhaps I feel I've lost something by not adhering to the old ways... but wishing something will not make it so."

"I know that, it doesn't mean you can't think about it."

Chewing the salted meat, Neria salivated and ate another piece, finishing before she said, "Do you think about what it would have been like if you'd hadn't been sent to the Chantry?"

"Sometimes," Alistair grinned, "Maybe one of the Arl's knights, or married off to some woman with a babe or two... or most likely still sleeping in the stables, smelling only marginally worse."

Neria smiled inwardly, and she ripped the jerky again before saying, "You wouldn't be a Grey Warden."

Tucking his foot underneath his other leg, Alistair ran a hand down his shin, ruffling the cloth that had been trapped by his greave, "No...no I suppose not..." His expression grew more morose in the firelight, and he added, "I'd have never met you... or Duncan, or any of them."

"Exactly," Neria chuckled, fidgeting, "And I know how much Duncan means to you."

Alistair was watching her now, expression a bit odd before he said, "Exactly."

They both looked at the fire, and Neria finished the dried meat, scrunching the cloth and stuffing it into her pack. "I – I'm going to get some sleep. We shouldn't need a watch – early and long day to come."

Nodding, Alistair mumbled a reply, watching his hands as Neria slipped into her bedroll, faced away from him.

* * *

When the roots of the sylvan erupted from the soil to ensconce her in their claustrophobic embrace, Neria wasn't certain that life in the forest – as a Dalish even – was entirely for her. Her scream of surprise was muffled as the branches squeezed, and pain flashed over her eyes. She could hear the thick cracks of Alistair's sword in the wood, and the whine of her hound trapped another rooty cage nearby.

Her skin was left raw as the roots ripped away, and Neria had to push her hair out of her eyes to see that Alistair had hacked through one of the animated tree's limbs. The sylvan howled with a depth unbecoming its form.

Blinking rapidly, Neria found her focus and a large rock condensed at the focal end of her staff. In a moment it hurled away and crashed through the sylvan's upper branches. The possessed tree staggered from the blow and half its crown cracked.

The rock sailed through and hit another tree – which happened to be no tree at all. Glowing dark eyes opened in the bark, and a bellow of demonic fury joined the first sylvan's as it came to life.

"Oh you've got to be joking!" Leiliana cried.

Ualan yelped as the sylvan swept the ground and sent him flying into a broad cedar. The mabari limped to its feet before leaping back at the tumbling sylvan. As it collapsed to the ground, the demon released its hold and left a mangled pile of distorted branches behind.

Meanwhile Alsitair engaged the other sylvan on his own, and there was the punch of buckling metal as a nest of branches scooped him up. The man cried out, and anger flared in Neria's belly, prompting the spell on her lips. A frigid air rose off her skin, radiated outward to coat the tree in ice.

Freezing in place, the sylvan's leaves tinkled together, many breaking off under the weight. Staff in her grasp, the arcane bolts Neria created broke off chunks here and there, and the demonic creature growled, its anger pent in the ice. It broke free and the cage around Alistair crumpled as it turned its rage on the mage.

A few well-aimed shots from Leiliana snagged the sylvan's uprooted feet, letting Ualan lunge and tear one of its arms with a vicious snarl. Neria took the time to cast another rock, and the stone crumbled to nothing as the tree splintered under its force.

Sweat on her brow, Neria closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swayed her. It was Ualan's whimpered woof that drew her, and she hurried to Alistair's side. He was unconscious. Undoing the straps on his dented breastplate, she tugged it off. There was no blood, but she knew well enough that didn't mean he was alright.

"Is he..." Leiliana put a hand over her mouth.

"No, just out cold."

"Oh, thank the Maker!" she sighed before kneeling, "Alistair – Alistair!"

Neria's hands shook – why was her training abandoning her, she knew what she needed to do.

"Here," Leiliana popped her dagger out and cut his shirt open.

Distress growing, Neria saw the bruising lesion where he'd been crushed, and burst blood vessels created a crescent-shaped impact wound. Alistair's head rolled and a deep groan rose in his chest as his eyes almost opened.

"Can we... not do that again? I think I broke a rib," he whispered, and trying to move, sucked in a sharp breath, "Yep, that's pain alright."

"Here?" Neria laid her hand on the heated bruise.

"Agh! Yes, yes right there," his eyes rolled closed, "Maker, I haven't missed that feeling."

Hand hovering over Alistair's ribs, Neria closed her eyes and exhaled, fixating and channelling her magical energy into the wound. Alistair gasped, the sensation refreshing and rising through him as his bones aligned unnaturally. The sharp edges of the pain ebbed into a dull ache, and he let out his pent breath.

"That... that is – ghn," he tried to sit up, clutching his side at the bite of pain.

Neria took some of the bandages from her pack, uncorking a salve to apply as she said, "It'll still be tender a few days, but the break should be mostly healed." She offered a hand, and he leant into her, a blush rising on his cheeks as she wrapped the bandage over the soft wad of cloth she'd placed atop the salve.

"It – it's better – a lot. Thank you," Alistair said as he refused help up, groaning, "Thanks for the shirt too, ehm..."

"Next time we'll be sure to move you instead," Leiliana tsked.

Taking the time to heal Ualan and Leiliana, Neria suffered through her own aches, exhausted from the exertion.

"I'm not sure it's safe to rest here," the bard cautioned, shouldering her bow as she gazed through the silent trees.

They'd been in the forest a few days now, and had not only been mauled by bears, wolves, and possessed sylvans, but had also drawn in two darkspawn scouting bands, ogres, and werewolves more than once – despite Neria's best efforts. They didn't trust her, and from all they said, she was beginning to doubt what Zathrian had mentioned about the curse. She was drained, and the nights had brought little rest.

"Let's get to the oak. We have the acorn, of all things." Neria blinked lengthily, a clammy sweat on her brow. "Then we'll see about resting."

The melodious voice of the Great Oak vibrated through the quiet when they reached the copse, and Neria leaned on her staff as he extolled the virtues and love he had for his acorn. "For with this I truly have what I need, my reason to live – my only seed."

"You had said you would help us if we brought back your acorn – help us to find the werewolves?"

"Ahhh yes... in the forest's heart, for deeper thee intend to try, past summoned mists, will this let thee belie." From his boughs, the Great Oak plucked a contorted branch that was almost as tall as Neria.

Running her hand over the ancient, warped bark, she could feel the energies in it. As much as the one on her back, Neria envisioned the branch would serve well as a conduit for her magic – if not enhancing them.

"Thank you...I – I wanted to ask something else too..." Neria looked up to the spirit-bound, wizened tree. The oak assented and she continued, "May we camp in the safety and shade of your boughs?"

"Are you crazy?" Alistair whispered through a forced smile.

"Yes?" Neria kept her eyes up to the contemplating oak, who was as large as any tree.

"For regaining my child, my all, no danger shall on thee befall – for my eaves spread wide, to the heavens they reach, I will listen and grant thee safety beseeched."

"Thank you again, ser Oak." Neria bowed her head as the tree relaxed into silence.

Dropping her pack a few yards away, Neria slumped to the ground and Ualan joined her, providing a comfy lump to lean on. Alistair and Leiliana were staring at her.

"What harm can an old tree do?"

"Hello? Crushed by a crazy tree once already today, thanks?" Alistair said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the oak wasn't getting any ideas.

Neria waved a hand, eyes heavy as she slouched into the moss, and Leiliana laughed oddly.

"I will stay up," she said, "I do not need rest."

Alistair sat and tried to hammer the dent out of his breastplate with a rock he found, much to Leiliana's amusement. The elven mage didn't sleep, lying against the mabari in the late afternoon to recover. The poultice on her arm had finally staunched a gash that had been bleeding all morning, and she idly sipped a vial of lyrium she had.

She had never been allowed it as an apprentice, seeing it the first time during her Harrowing – and she could see why it was restricted. It took restraint not to guzzle the faintly glowing, thick liquid that was a balm to all her senses and mind alike.

The time or two Neria had drunk a full dose while fighting, it left her with odd clarity and a nervous jitter. She could feel the unease in her companions to keep moving, but lest she develop a dependency on the lyrium, she needed to rest.

Neria pressed her trembling hand against Ualan, mind alight as she drained the last sip. Noticing her companion's distraction, she wiped a finger down through the slick of translucent blue and sucked it off. The sun was low through the trees by now, casting long shadows where it broke through, creating illuminated shafts of mist.

"Press on or camp here?" Neria asked when she'd regained her cerebral acuity. Alistair sighed and she got up, "Alright, alright."

Thanking the oak, Neria led them back through the woods, doing her best to reference the Dalish map they had. The streams were the only landmark she was able to follow, and the light was fading when they reached the curtain of heavy fog they had encountered no their first day – that they had subsequently gotten lost because of.

Alistair was favouring his side and Ualan was oddly quiet as he sat and stared down the mist. Summoning her spellwisp, Neria wordlessly motioned for them to follow, and in the day's dying light, they crossed into the protected heart of the forest.


	9. The Curse

Neria and her companions strode through the runes on the heels of Witherfang. The white wolf had knocked the mage to the ground when the fight with the werewolves had fallen out of their favour.

"Di – did you see it?" Leiliana whispered, "That wolf was huge!"

"Felt it too," Neria murmured, and Alistair shook his head.

The night disappeared behind them as they descended the ancient steps into the ruins, the aged doors flanked by statues to the Creators.

"These ruins almost look elven... did they live underground like dwarfs?" Leiliana shot Alistair a glance, and he flushed and murmured something under his breath. Neria took the steps ahead of them, the stagnant air hanging with dust as the doors opened. Inside was dimly lit, and her spellwisp cast an eerie shadow of its own.

Tongue mopping around, Ualan ran into the ruins and Neria called out after him. Her voice echoed in the stone space, and she hugged her staff close as they hurried after the dog. It was only with his yelp they realized they were surrounded by skeletal remains.

Dust falling from their armour-clattered bones, the undead attacked them without delay. The fighting drove them deeper into the sanctuary, and as the skeletons were felled, more rose to take their place.

Sweating in the stagnant air, Neria climbed over a root that rose to her knees, listening to the distant echo of voices. Elvish – she was almost certain of it. In her distraction, she missed what Leiliana's movements until there was a little squeal of mischievous glee.

"What are you doing?"

Hovering over a chest, Leiliana looked up from where she knelt, "What do you think I'm doing?" Delightful eyes on Neria, the bard pulled the aged lock off the chest. "Don't look at me like that, they're not using it."

Leiliana pocketed the coins she found and waggled a small vial that glowed subtly blue, "Look, even something you can appreciate."

The lyrium was cool to the touch as Neria turned it in her fingers, "I don't know where it's been..."

"In a chest?"

Neria grinned before coughing the expression away and fitting the vial into a pocket on her belt. Weaving through the barren halls, they battled spiders and undead alike, losing sense of time as they sank deeper into the ancient ruins.

Met at a crossroad of stairs, Alistair turned one way, but an electric tension in the air drew Neria another.

"Here... there's something..."

Down a short set of steps another batch of undead assaulted them, and with a snarl, Ualan knocked one to the ground, ripping it limb from limb. They were surprisingly resilient, and Neria fell against the wall as one impaled itself on her staff. Trapped in close quarters, it battered her with its blunt, rusted sword, and she nearly screamed. A precise swing of Alistair's sword swung him and clattered it through the spectre's bones.

As she slumped lower, the energy in the air tingled over her skin, and Neria asked, "Do you feel that?"

"Something is not right," Leiliana whispered.

"Really? What gave that away?" Alistair used his sword to scatter the bones of the ghouls they'd dispatched.

Ualan nudged Neria up to her feet, and resting a hand on the wall, she closed her eyes from an odd dizziness. Hand to her heart as though in prayer, the nourishing wash of her spell eased the bruising lumps down her arms and legs. Eyes still hazy, she looked around the small room they were in.

There were bookshelves, a number of them rotting or toppled, and the mage picked between them, the tomes long ago succumb to time. Bare bits of spine and half-eaten leather backings were all that remained. A stone altar stood out from the rest, its surface sparking as Neria ran her hand over it, indicative of the latent magic within.

It was then the small wooden stand caught her eye, and Neria sank to a knee as her companions idled back in restless tension. "There's a phylactery..."

The vial was warm in her grasp, the blood inside as red as her own. She could remember the day the templars took it. It was stopped with a faceted gem cork. Running her fingers over it, the stone pulsed with heat and her senses swam.

Claustrophobic confinement oppressed her, a weeping and screaming unheard for ages, unvoiced, railing and recoiling from her. Separate and defined, panic and fear washed through her and Neria gasped.

"Wha- what is it?"

"I – I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you," she whispered, thumb running over the gem, eyes unfocused.

"Neria?"

But her thoughts were elsewhere.

Time passed in a rapid succession, darkness and silence enveloping her; the realization of unintended imprisonment, the madness of solitude, and a voice without a tongue strained in her chest. Sleep brought no reprieve, and Neria ached for the presence that nearly wept, straining and clinging to the fellowship of her touch.

Caressing the gem again, there were tears in her unfocused eyes as Alistair grabbed her arm.

"I am not leaving you," Neria whispered to the phylactery in her grasp.

"Neria," Alistair hissed, "Talk to me."

Breath shuddering, Neria pulled her eyes to him, even as more visions clouded her, the pleading of the presence threatening to sweep her away again. "Something's trapped. It.. it's terrible..."

"Let go of it, you don't know what-"

"No!" Neria snapped, looking back to the phylactery, "How did you become trapped in there?"

Alistair looked to Leiliana with pleading eyes, and the bard said, "Give her a few moments – perhaps we cannot sense what she can... she is the mage, not us."

"That's exactly what worries me."

Ualan whimpered and watched his mistress.

The sounds and scents of battle inundated Neria, reminiscent of Ostagar, with men and elf alike clattered together in the onslaught. A fog hung at the edges, and a faceless elf was being pursued. Momentarily hidden, he raised his hands to the sky, body riddled with mist and light before he disappeared. And then there was darkness and confinement, fading and losing thought, the confusion and despair that led through the years to this moment.

"You were a mage," she whispered in a reverent hush.

In response, the visage of an elf in shining armour appeared, fogged by time, but in the midst of conjuring against an unseen foe. The spell executed, and it brandished the flaming sword on its back and dissipated into the battle, its body flickering and half-translucent.

Were it not for the compassion and rapturous curiosity on Neria's features, Alistair may have forcefully taken the phylactery from her. He knew little of the magic used to maintain them, except that it preserved the blood. He crossed his arms, brow creased as he watched the elven mage continue to unnervingly whisper to the vial in her grasp.

Silenced, Neria wavered and fell forward, hands pitched to the ground as her guttural rasp filled the small chamber. She'd paled considerably, and they lurched towards her as she closed her eyes and shuddered.

An ache evolved in her thoughts as the garbled knowledge filled her, and Neria scarce noticed Alistair pulling her, or the mabari licking her hand. The world oozed back into focus, ears attuned and pulse abating.

"- and stop whatever it is you're doing!"

"I – I'm going to destroy it, no need to worry," Neria gave the man a half grin, "I'm fine, I assure you."

"Well you don't look it," he said. Ualan gave a dubious grunt.

Leiliana pressed a water-skin into her hand, and the elf relented, drinking a deep gulp to appease her.

Able to acutely feel the jittery distress of the former mage in the gem, Neria shrugged away and said, "Stand back...you're certain this is what you wish?"

A surge of joy spilt through Neria's chest and her breath fluttered. She lay the phylactery on the altar, devoid of the presence with their contact broken – but the remnants of its memories clung disorganized in her thoughts.

Pulling a loose stone from the wall, Neria smashed the vial, and a salvo resounded as the energy within was obliterated. The blood hissed across the altar like a hot knife on ice, mists coiling up as it withered to ash. The life gem was gone, but she touched the few bits of glass left, testing.

When no sound or sensation assailed her, Neria sunk to her knees. The memories were fragmented more than her own, foreign and unknown, she had the last knowledge from the order of the arcane warriors.

"Are you going to tell us what's going on now?" Alistair adjusted his armour, a shiver through him as the remaining magical energy ebbed from the air. His templar training wanted was wanting to claw out from where he restrained it – but the more rational side of his mind was more concerned for the mage that was his friend beyond anything else, "Are you hurt? We can rest a bit if you need."

Neria got up, her robes dusty, "You won't rest in the shade of a talking tree, but you'll jump at the chance for a nap in some ruins full of werewolves and the undead?"

"I wouldn't say I jumped..."

"We need to find where they've gone... I worry about the Dalish who are ill..." Neria sighed, ignoring the oppressive throb behind her eyes, "It took us too long to get here."

Tight lipped, the mage ignored her companion's inquisitive looks and led them away. Back out in the passages, they turned down the only set of free stairs, the scent of decay more pungent in the air. Midway down the stairs, a rumble shook the walls and vibrated through their bones.

"Maybe going back for that rest is not such a bad idea, no?"

The hairs on the back of Neria's neck stood on end as she hesitated. She could hear the cautious growl low in Ualan's throat. Was it Witherfang? He was no ordinary wolf. The elven mage pushed forward, and couldn't help but think how odd it was that she was unsurprised to be attacked by more undead.

That fighting undead was to be expected. What would the apprentices in the Tower say to that!

When another roar pulsed the air, Neria was unable to swallow the true fear that immobilized her.

"Holy Maker!" Leiliana cried.

The mage had not the time to look, finding herself crushed in pain and slammed to the ground, pinned under the claw of a monstrous lizard.

"A dragon!" Alsitair cracked, stumbling as the creature beat its wings. There was a spray of blood as it razed Neria, making her wheeze, and he pulled his sword.

The mabari lept at the dragon's other forelimb, clamping his jaw down. Bow taut, Leiliana punctured a line of arrows up its shoulder as the beast snapped Ualan into its jaws. The hound's yelp echoed off the stone, and the dragon shook its head before throwing the dog against the wall.

Alistair charged in, and his sword cut a hole through the leathery skin of the dragon's wing. Screeching in protest, it flapped and spattered blood before lifting into the vaulted, multi-story chamber.

Bleeding from multiple spots, Neria clamoured up and wearily raised her hands, the entropic magic swirling to draw in the unnatural life that had sustained the ghouls. She had been practising the precise articulations of the spell, and it hissed on her lips, limbs invigorated as her wounds partially closed. Staff in hand, she crept backwards as a whoosh brought their foe's return.

The dragon twitched as arrows embedded in its scales, sulphurous scent stagnating the air. The sweep of fire caught them all, and Leiliana wheeled as parts of her armour caught. She was on the ground, unable to find a breath in the flames, rolling with what little strength she had to put herself out.

Alistair grunted, his armour glowing hot and almost sizzling against his skin, and he landed a number of close slashes through the dragon's hide. In the next moment, he froze mid-swing, a blast of cold enveloping him and the right half of the beast. Panting, Neria saw it was only the two of them left standing, and her concentration faltered, the entropic mist around her blowing away.

She darted with the beast, getting another blast of fire that singed the hem of her robe and heated the air dry, and making it difficult to breath. She let the bolts fly from her staff, and the dragon weakened, enraged further. A swipe of its paw knocked both the mage and ex-templar back off their feet, and they scrambled to escape the creature's snapping jaw.

Fumbling with her belt, Neria floundered out of the way as the dragon swung at her. The cork on the vial she found hit the stone by her feet as she tossed the lyrium back, eyes dilating as it soaked in, numbing her tongue and suffusing every cell. A condensed glow drifted off her skin and gave light to her exhalation. Summoning a rock at her side, she planted her feet and hurled it at the dragon.

The stone snagged the dragon's wing and threw it off balance. The last bits of frost fell from Alistair's limbs, and teeth clenching to keep from chattering, he sliced the tendon on the dragon's supporting arm. The beast railed and roared, sputtering a cough of fire that was halted as the warrior braced his shield on its breast and drive the longsword up through the dragon's jaw.

Blood sluiced over him, and Alistair strained to jerk the blade, cutting open a wide gap in the dragon's neck. Its uninjured arm lashed out, but he held his ground as the impact boxed his shield. The beast crumpled around him, and limp in his grasp, the tip of his sword clanked to the ground.

Neria hurried to Leiliana's side, casting a healing aura over her as the bard murmured she was awake.

"We – we killed a dragon... you froze me," Alistair said, still catching his breath as he stared at the dead lizard.

Fretfully looking around, Neria said, "You looked, em, a bit hot under the collar?"

"That's terrible," he emptily laughed.

Still buzzing on the lyrium, Neria almost dropped her staff as she clattered to where Ualan lay, scraps of wood and bone slipping under her feet. She fell on her knees and clasped her hands over the gashes where the dragon bit him.

"Alistair!" she said, voice cracking.

He clomped over and paled at the sight, "Oh Maker..."

"I-I need your hands," Neria whispered, "Here, clamp tight and apply pressure."

Shucking his gauntlets, Alistair dropped beside the elf and hesitantly brought his hands forward. She took them and quickly pressed them to staunch the wounds, her own palms slick. "Like this, now don't move."

The hound made a low sound in its throat.

"Shh, it's okay, we're taking care of you, just stay still." Neria spoke as she wiped her hands down the hem of her robe and dug in her pack. She pulled out a curved needle and thread, trying to loop through the eye.

"You're just going to sew him up?"

"His wound's too deep, I don't know the spells to close them." Neria spoke under her breath, eyes creased as she squeezed and rubbed the scruff of the mabari's neck. "Need you to lay here, that I might fix you."

Neria murmured quiet instructions to Alistair, and he moved as she needed. Immolating the needle in a summoned flame, she whispered another soothing word to her pup. The hound couldn't help but whine as she stitched the wound closed, the job rough but accomplishing its task. The blood staunched and the elf's hands trembled as she closed her eyes and lay her hands on the dog's torso. Her mental acuity slipping, she cast the spell needed to expedite the wounds knitting together.

The after effects of the lyrium eroded her emotional control, and Neria pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Ualan whimpered and she gingerly wrapped her arms around the dog, shushing him as much as herself as Alistair stood up, dumbfounded.

Visibly limping, Leiliana joined them and sat on the stone, "I think we need to rest a little."

"To think," Neria murmured, "We have yet to even throw ourselves to the wolves..."

Closing her eyes, the mage breathed a healing aura about her dog, and Ualan stirred, a relieved grumble in his chest. She stared blankly, lying against him as Alistair picked about the chamber.

* * *

"You are different from the rest," the Lady's wisp-words shivered through her, and branched fingers touched her cheek, her hair, her hip. "More like Zathrian, but so young."

It was difficult to keep her eyes open, unable to see through the choke of trees she was in, and Neria could feel the scratches on her skin as branches dragged against her.

"That you only know what he has done. It is half stories that carry you, weary Warden."

"Who are you?" Neria's voice seemed small as she stopped struggling – and the forest stopped harming her. A soft rain fell, trickling in the creases of her eyes and soothing her whipped skin.

"I think you already know."

There were snarls and snapping jaws through the trees, but Neria couldn't see their source. It was familiar, feral and defensive too, and the shifting sound disorientated her. The dream was fading, the light dimming.

"Help us," the voices hissed, spurred and mingled with the beauteous sound of the forest.

That voice was there once more after they woke and walked through the half-flooded room to their lair, when the werewolves finally relented, listening to the elven mages pleas and swallowing their rage. Rested but still heavy with wear, they followed them into the base of the ruins.

The Lady of the Forest.

She was a being unlike any other, radiant in her savage beauty, and only clad in branches and vines. Neria unconsciously touched her cheek as they approached the dais. The air remained tense as words were exchanged, the honour guard of werewolves behind their matron baring teeth and offering subtle snarls.

It was clear that Zathrian had manipulated them, and that his part in the curse was the true reason the Dalish were suffering. His presence when they exited the ruins to return to camp proved it.

Words weren't enough to sooth tensions and convince the ancient elf to break the magic he'd woven. It was only as he lay panting on the ground, summoned sylvans broken and surrounded by werewolves that he submitted and saw the curse had to end.

"You shame me with your compassion, spirit."

A massive werewolf, the Lady's first, Swiftrunner, looked to his mistress with eyes that showed the core of humanity within. "My lady..."

A touch of her gaze brought the creature to his knee, and he whimpered as her hand ruffled over his head, flattening his ears affectionately.

"So you will end it?" the Lady asked, and Zathrian rose to his feet and sighed.

"Yes... the suffering has... gone on long enough."

Hand to her lips, the Lady looked between her wolves as they gathered closer. She laid a hand on each in kind, eyes meeting in unspoken parting. When her gaze fixed on Neria, the mage was unsure what to do. She stepped forward despite the clip of protest in Alistair's throat. Placing her hand in the embodied spirit's waiting grasp, the branch tightened around her wrist and pierced the skin.

A flood of sensation and moments nearly crushed Neria's psyche; the first time Swiftrunner spoke, the intimacy they shared, running through the woods with the wind in her fur, playing and laughing with a pack of beasts in her wake. There was a distant unknown that sucked away into the past, a different existence, and a sudden brightness was left, smells and taste in the air, nubile and exhilarating, and it became a whirl of leaves, soil and trees around her as she found form. Paws dug into the earth, and a feral cry was choking her throat as she bit and tore, rending screams and bloody warmth in her wrath. Transformed, cursed, humbled, freed, and caged in the same blink - a cage of form, of reality, of flesh.

Neria tried to regain herself, time suspended, and the memories and stimulations crashed around her like a storm surge on a bow. She had almost lost herself in it, accepted the temptation of the dark-haired, twilight eyed spirit that was the Lady of the Forest and Witherfang in one. There was soft laughter in her thoughts, free of malice, and the mage drew a breath, breaking the surface of a lake, clean and clear from being held beneath the waves.

The sound echoed through the wide, root-ensconced chamber, and Neria could feel the wolves staring at her as she tugged her hand away. She realized no time had passed, and one foot dropped back, still eye-to-eye with the Lady.

The spirit's attention had already left, wizened sorrow meeting the ache and fatigue of her master and creator. He clapped his staff down, and Neria could feel the eddies of magical energy coalescing around them.

The keeper unfurled his hand, a symbolic gesture to focus his concentration and undo his ritual. A droplet of blood pooled in his palm and the Lady of the Forest clutched her arboreal hands to her naked breast. There were tears in her eyes, running thick like sap as Zathrian collapsed.

The mists pulled more heartily around the vine-twined legs of the Lady, and she gave Swiftrunner a fleeting look, her form coming apart like a dream. Where her skin broke light shone through as a soft glow, and it grew skyward as she lost hold on her form.

Alistair, Leiliana and the hound all stumbled back, unable to weather the shock of magic released. Neria took it like a tide, shivering as before her eyes the werewolves fell to hand and knee, fur sloughing off. The frightened yelps and growls dissipated into mortal gasps and breaths. The air buffeted from them, the Lady of the Forest gone, Zathrian dead at her feet, and the curse broken.

Did she return to the Fade? Was she a demon, a spirit, or otherwise? Was there something else?

At Neria's expressed behest, the recovered humans scattered to find some semblance of a life elsewhere beyond the trees. How would they know where to go? It wasn't her concern, and they didn't ask. Perhaps they thought their luck already tested, glad enough to be what for generations their ancestors couldn't be – free and in control of their humanity.

The interactions with the Lady of the Forest left a shadow over the elven mage as they trekked through the Brecilian Forest. The air was colder, for though the Veil was thin, it had lost a layer of its mystique. On weary limbs, they were still under the eaves by the time night fell.

"What is it like, being... magical?"

Neria looked up from her journal as Alistair sat beside her. The mabari and Leiliana were sleeping on opposite sides of the small fire from each other.

"What's it like not being able to use magic?"

"Well, normal, for one," he replied, grinning.

"Oh really? Not where I come from."

"Hah," Alistair shook his head and flipped the small fawn they had cooking over the fire. Leiliana had shot it before retiring, and so far it had survived being burnt. He reset the stays that held the suspending sticks. "I meant like at the ruins..."

Neria drank some water, drawing her limbs close as she asked, "Are you sure you want to know? It won't... turn you against me or something?"

"What, no – why would it?"

"You argue with Morrigan about her upbringing and the fact she's an apostate a lot."

Alistair gawped and played with a piece of armour, "I... well... that's different."

"Is it? How." Neria whipped a branch into the fire, standing up to walk away from the fire, "You do realize I'm an apostate now, don't you?"

Glancing to ensure Leiliana hadn't woke, Alistair rose with care to prevent his armour from clinking, though he soon stumbled in the dark, "But you're not, Neria. You're a Circle Mage, you were given leave to be a Grey Warden."

Neria watched him flounder in the dark and shook her head. Ualan lifted his head from where he was sleeping.

"Maker, where are you?"

"Leiliana might know," Neria murmured, smacking Alistair as he stepped near.

"Look, I just...don't hit me again?" Alistair wasn't quite looking at her, his eyes adjusting to the dark. "It seems like there is so much more happening to you. There's no way I can know unless I ask... right...?"

Neria sighed and combed her fingers through her dirty hair, trying to untangle it as she said, "That may be... there's just not a lot different between us, Alistair."

"Please, you and Morrigan? You are - " Alistair caught himself and cleared his throat, more amicably saying, "You are a much better person, being a mage aside. You are kind and don't seem like you're constantly looking for ways to cause those around you as much suffering as possible. And presentable - much more presentable." He peered around before adding, "I am talking to you, I hope?"

"Yes," Neria grinned, patting his arm, "I'm right here."

"Oh, well that's good, knowing me I was about to enrage a sylvan or some other pleasant creature of the forest."

Neria stepped towards the fire, and he relaxed as he could make out her shape. "It's just a very open question, I don't know how to answer it. Being magical." She tetched, "What do I compare it to..."

They sat down with their backs to the flames, looking up through the trees, just the edges illuminated by the erratic light.

"It's just part of me, it is there," Neria motioned with her hands, unable to quantify it, "How would you describe a heartbeat, or breathing to someone who's never done it?"

"Um," Alistair looked at her and she blushed. "Alright...what about in the ruins?"

"Oh..."

"Something happened," he scrutinized her, straining in the low light.

"Yes," Neria rest her hands in her lap, leaning back towards the fire as she stretched her legs, "I'm not an abomination, so that's what matters, right?"

"What!"

"I'm kidding," she chuckled, though Alistair was still staring at her. "How are your ribs?"

"Oh still there," he patted his plate armour, "Thanks again."

"Good... you can stay up then." Neria threw back her roll and Alistair scoffed. She grinned and added, "Wake me in a few and I'll take over."

"Yeah, yeah."

Gingerly moving to settle on too many bruises, Neria curled into her ground-hard bed. The voice of the Lady still echoed in her thoughts, as though sighed through the trees in the cool breeze. Her life had become surreal, and as her eyes closed, she pondered if her dreams might be more normal.


	10. Antivans and Ale

The cold wind that hit them when they stepped out from under the eaves of the Brecilian Forest was almost a welcome thing. The new keeper Lanaya had pledged the Dalish to uphold their treaty with the Grey Wardens - they had the first soldiers of their army training to combat the Blight and a small attaché accompanying them to keep communications open as the clans rallied.

Admittedly the elves were slow to breach the silence, lingering separate from the Wardens and their companions as they marched. While their kinsmen had been saved because of their actions, it could not easily overcome the ingrained suspicions.

"Where are we going?"

Neria looked up from the book in her hands, tucking her quill into the page as she looked up to Sten. Concealing her surprise, she simply said, "Denerim."  
"Why? The darkspawn lie in the opposite direction."

"Well... there's a Chantry brother researching the Urn of Sacred Ashes, which the Arl of Redcliffe apparently needs... he's quite ill."

"What does that have to do with the Blight."

"His army wasn't at Ostagar... and he has political support that would help us against Teryn Loghain." Neria tucked the journal into her satchel, looking over the plains that stretched before them. They had almost made it back to the Drakon River. "I'm hoping we might learn more of the fate of our order as well... though Alistair is certain the teryn will have done his best to destroy it..." She sighed.

Sten grumbled and was about to speak when a woman stumbled into the road, crying out in fear as she ran up to them.

"Please - please help, someone's attacked the cart! Come quick!"

Staring down at the traveller, Sten offered no reply, and the woman soon turned and beckoned them down the road. As Neria set to move, he caught her arm, "She is lying."

"She is?"

Resting his hands on his belt, Sten shook his head and strode forward, forcing Neria to almost run to keep up.

"How can you tell?" Neria whispered.

"How can you not?" Sten replied, stopping to let her stride forward with Alistair as they came around the bend in the road.

Overturned carts and dead livestock bloodied the nook off the road, and Neria furrowed her brow at the scent that cloyed the air. There was too much decay for a recent attack, given that winter was closing in. There was a trio of individuals, one of which was the woman - and there was an elf.

Neria pursed her lips and was about to speak when there came the creak of heavy wood, and Alistair snagged her arm, dragging her forward as a half-rotted tree toppled and cut them off from the rest of their party. Morrigan all but swore as she narrowly missed one of the branches, and Ualan scrambled on her heels with a yip.

"The Grey Wardens die here!"

A rapport of arrows hit the tree where she'd been, and Neria flattened to the ground, before rolling up, dried leaves clung to her. She tripped as she disentangled her staff, and with a word her body spilt forth flaked bits of rock, a weightless protection in place as one of the assassins cut close. The dagger met the stone with a clang, and Neria backpedalled.

The mage screamed as another dagger sliced her robe and cut over her thigh, and raising her staff, froze the attacker to distance herself further. Another blast of frigid air enveloped the clot of assasins pressing her, and the elf she'd seen broke free, trailing the chill as he kept close.

Elsewhere, Ualan ran over the uneven landscape, setting off an explosive trap that barely fazed him, before launching at an archer. Throttling a limb, they lost their bow and whipped out a dagger, only to be met with another clamp of iron jaws shaking to break their wrist. Morrigan followed close behind the mabari, complimenting his brutal distraction with her own magic.

Blood splashed on the undergrowth from the momentum of Alistair's sword, and the assassin crumpled from where the cut caught in the chink of his leathers. His shield slid under another wide slash from a dagger, and he dug in and pushed back, knocking the attacker off balance.

The elven assassin pivoted and swiped at Neria, only to falter as his heart panged, life drawn from him in a haze to bolster the mage. He gasped, and rage flared in his eyes, hurrying his dexterous steps to advance on her, only to be met by a bolt of energy that jerked his muscles. Blood trickling down his nose, he tightened the grip on his dagger.

Grappling, he stripped Neria of her staff, and it was luck that through it, his longsword was knocked aside. Rolling though, his dagger caught across the strap of her satchel, and it fell to the ground. A stripe of blood welled beneath it, and the elven assassin chuckled and hinged to swipe his blade again. Hand flying from the small of her back, Neria caught the assault with her own dagger, surprising herself with the strength that crackled in her muscles.

It surprised the assassin too, as much as the arcane bolt that hit him square in the chest, driving the air from him. Neria sheathed the dagger as the man collapsed, retrieving her staff and using her dwindling mental prowess to help disable the last few archers.

Looking around at all the dead, people not just monsters or creatures, the mage retched, leaning heavily on her staff. Her wounds burned and felt like they were being eaten open, and it worsened the nausea. "Can we not do that again?"

Morrigan came back, almost losing balance as Ualan dashed around her legs. Removing the chewed herb from her mouth, she pressed the paste into a gouge on the elf's arm, smearing it to fill the bloodied wound. Neria took the cloth she offered and bandaged over it, shivering before clutching her own injury.

"They were assassins. They would have used poisons, let me see."  
Sitting down, Neria lay back and hiked her robe to show her thigh, and Morrigan prodded the cut, before irrigating it with some of her water. The elf gasped and said, "Not pleasant."

"No, nor will it be. Nor will it be your end. Heal yourself."

Alistair drew his blade along the reddened cloth that hung from his waist, cleaning it before sheathing it. Neria scrambled to smooth her robes down, grimacing as she stood and he said, "They... they're all dead."

A curse in a foreign tongue drew their attention, and Neria realized the elf who had gone after her was still alive. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and let a healing effluvia seep over her. Still in pain, she was satisfied that she couldn't feel her blood running anymore.

"Are you hurt?"

Alistair shook his head, and both mages and would-be templar stood about the man on the ground. Ualan growled and glared at the elf who'd attacked his mistress. Neria jabbed him a few times with her staff, and he rolled, lifting his face with a groan.

"Alright, maybe not all of them."

"Ualan, find the others."

Huffing, the dog sat up and jogged off to investigate the large fallen log before disappearing.

"Agh... I rather thought I would wake up dead - or not at all, as the case may be." The elf lifted his head, voice lilting with a foreign accent, "But, here I am, you have yet to kill me it seems."

"Quiet! You will speak when spoken to."

Alistair and Morrigan looked at the elven mage between them, taken aback by the sharp snap of her voice.

"Oh ho ho, quite the commanding little minx. Please, I will show no resistance, you have me beat."

Neria crossed her arms, a light flush on her cheeks as she stared the man down, "Then tell me why you were trying to kill us."

* * *

Alistair kept his distance as they marched towards Denerim, their nightly watches having a secondary duty of monitoring the elven assassin, Zevran Arainai, that Neria had reluctantly recruited to join them. It was obvious he was displeased with his fellow Warden's decision, the uncomfortable air between the motley of adventurers exacerbated by their lack of discussion.

"Do you always practise in the middle of the night?"

Neria tucked her hair behind her ear at Zevran's voice, realizing he was able to see her when their other companions would have been night blind. Her cheeks warmed as she quietly said, "Yes. When else would I?"

"Would your companions not assist you?"

"Maybe," she said under her breath, stopping her forms. She'd taken up a sword today, able to channel her magic and hoist it with little trouble. It didn't keep the sweat from her brow. "Why do you care?"

"I am your man without reservation, did I not say this?" Zevran idly twisted his dagger out of its sheath, a close-lipped smile offered.

"And?"  
"And as one of the people responsible for keeping me alive, does it not make sense that I would be interested in your capabilities?"

Neria stuck her blade into the soil, still looking at his hands, "Not just looking for an opportunity to finish what you started?"

"And what good would that do? Even if I finished the job, the Crows might just kill me on principle." Zevran chuckled and strode towards her, "Besides, I can think of much worse things than helping a beautiful elf handle a blade. Perhaps you would use mine?"

Neria blinked lengthily, a flush rising on her cheeks as she sighed, and it brought a soft laugh from the assassin.

"I jest, of course." Zevran idly played with his dagger, twirling it from hand to hand as he said, "Why do you toy with a sword when you have much greater powers at your disposal?"

Lingering in the darkness, Neria scanned through the surrounding hillside, watching for any signs of movement, and sensing no other taint than Alistair by the fire. "Helped with you, didn't it?"

Zevran cleared his throat, almost laughing as he sunk his dagger into the sheath on his back and said, "That it did."

Wiping her brow, Neria kept her distance as she asked, "My... the man who recruited me into the Grey Wardens wanted me to know as much as I could. Alistair has helped correct some things I've forgotten, that I'm doing fine."

"You look fine, indeed."

She sighed again, more coldly saying, "Perhaps you should get some rest."

"But I have rested, Warden - it is not I that has been swinging my sword in the dark."

"I have had my rest," she said under her breath, still feeling her heart rate coming down.

"Do not let my words stop your training."

"No, it...it's fine." Neria sank down with her back to the fire, using its light as she pulled out her journal. Her hair gained a golden glow, and she wrote and drew with surprising efficiency.

Zevran meandered about camp, watching the stars and the hillside in the lowlight as he felt sleep tug at his senses again. What was it that kept him can't be known, but he eventually sat near her, stretching his legs out.

"You were raised in one of the Towers, yes?"

Blinking lengthily, Neria scarce paused in her writing as she replied, "Yes. Here in Ferelden, in the middle of Lake Calenhad."

"I have never travelled with a mage before."

"And now you find yourself with two."

"Yes, what's an elf to do," Zevran sighed. "It will certainly keep things interesting."

"Hmm."

"If I may be so bold, what do you plan to do with me?"

"Well," Neria drew breath, resting her quill and laying her journal in her crossed legs, "I am a Grey Warden, and there is a Blight. Does that not paint a clear enough picture?"

"We are heading to Denerim, yes? Have I been conscripted?"

Neria's brow furrowed and she looked at him, her voice still hushed, "What? No... no we... we don't know how to make more Grey Wardens."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks reddened, and Neria closed her journal, chased from her thoughts, "No, actually, I... I had just become a Grey Warden when the rest of our order was obliterated at Ostagar. And Alistair...was the next newest recruit."

Only a brief sound betrayed Zevran's surprise, and he looked away from the mage and smiled, "Being beaten by new recruits does wonders for one's ego."

"Not really sorry for it."

"Understandably so."

Neria sighed and said, "I am hoping you will help us, Zevran. We are rallying an army to fight the Blight. I have already secured commitment from the Dalish... we have yet to visit Orzammar, the Circle Tower, and Redcliffe... Redcliffe is another story entirely..."

"Well, that is a relief."

"What do you mean?"

"There are worse things in this world than following a slender, pale witch against some great evil," he chuckled.

Neria almost rolled her eyes and shook her head, "I doubt many would agree with you. Most are... more than happy to go the other direction. Or want something in return for the smallest help, it seems."

"You have spared my life, Warden, something I value greatly. An assassin I may be, but I honour my debts."

Gathering her things to her bedroll, Neria's expression was clouded before she murmured, "Well... if nothing else, it'll be nice to have another elf around to make the humans uncomfortable."

Zevran laughed, watching her in the corner of his eye as he said, "A fine way of putting it."

The elven mage woke Leiliana for the last watch, looking over the camp as she roused. Zevran was still with his back to the fire, looking into the night. Neria was able to get a few hours of uneasy sleep before the sun rose and they packed camp to continue on.

The trees thinned further into ranch land, and they followed the lone road that finally showed outside of the forest, its compact ruts weaving between bare lands that supplied the city. The travel was made worse by the declining weather, and when they were a day out from Denerim, the first snows coated the land.

They took shelter at a meagre inn amidst the farmlands, and Neria left her hood up as she approached the barkeep to inquire about rooms. Ualan was at her side, and the man noted the mabari right away.

"Quite the hound you have, ma'am."

"Yes, he is a fair companion. There will be no problem with him joining us, I hope?"

"Naw, just keep him from making a mess. I've got two rooms that should hold yeh, five silvers each. That includes dinner and porridge in the morning."

Neria's slender hand passed atop the counter and laid out the payment, providing an extra few coins, to which he thanked her. "Thank you good ser." Turning to her companions, she said, "Women and men, each to our own seems appropriate."

Alistair groaned, and she could see the sparkle in Zevran's eyes as they trumped up the stairs to the rooms. Leiliana linked arms with her and they followed the others up.

"Supper's in an hour," called the innkeeper after them.

"This will be so nice," Leiliana sighed, pushing open their room, stopping as she saw the simplicity of the room. "Ehm..."

"Tis a bed, that is all I care." Morrigan pushed by them and sat down, lying back and exhaling. She waved a hand towards the equally small bed on the opposite wall, "You two may share the other."

Neria lit the fire and dropped her things, gratefully relinquishing her pack and undoing her belt to warm herself. Outside the thin walls the winter wind whipped, and she pulled the heavy curtain across the window to block the crystallized frost. Her hands hadn't been warm all day, and she sunk onto the low stool by the hearth for some time, with Ualan curled up beside her. The heat of the fire tingled life into her.

"I am sure we will find warmer clothing in the city," Leiliana assured her, unstrapping her own pack and roll to stack on Neria's by the wall. "Come, let us go down for a drink. That should warm us, no?"

Taking a wide cloth from her things, Neria tied it around her head, covering her ears and hair. She left her staff by the wall and nodded to the bard, "I am starving, I do not know if a drink is the wisest. Morrigan?"

The apostate scoffed and murmured, "I have no desire to join the local rabble. I will come for my meal in time, and return here."

Back downstairs, the air of the close-quarters common room was filled with the scent of bodies, and more amicably, that of a rich meal. Zevran was already leaning on the kitchen counter, speaking with the woman there with a wide smile. Keeping her cloak close, Neria took to one of the tables, and the woman disengaged herself to bring some stew for her and Leiliana.

"Look like you could use this, luv."  
Neria offered her thanks, smiling as leant over the warm aroma drifting off it. Alistair sank into the chair beside her, nodding his own thanks to the server.

"This is what I was telling you about, Leiliana. Good Ferelden stew!" The man scarce hesitated before gorging himself on the thick meal.

Leiliana wrinkled her nose and picked at her food, before passing it to Neria, who had already finished hers, "You need this more than I do."

"Are you more hungry than you used to be?" Alistair wiped a hand through his stubble, eyes bright in the low light.

Neria flushed as she took the rest of Leiliana's stew, "Yes... I feel like I can never get enough, it's ridiculous."

"It's part of being a Grey Warden," he said under his breath, grinning, "Something about the taint affects our appetites. I used to raid the larder at the compound in Denerim when I was first recruited... when..."

Licking her lips, Neria rest her spoon and touched Alistair's arm. He was looking down into his bowl, and he absently circled through the potatoes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I keep feeling like I'm going to get over it, but then..."

"Don't be sorry, I understand."

Zevran sat sideways in the last chair at their table, motioning to where some other men were, "So, I can count you all in for a game of Brigand's Bluff? The fine gentleman across the way is starting a game."

"Ohh I have not played that since... well, in years!" Leiliana gushed, and pushed back when Zevran stood with a grin. "I used to be quite good, too."

"Excellent."

Leiliana scoffed and pulled to her feet, "Will you behave?"

Zevran laughed lightly, "I will undoubtedly be on my best behaviour."

"Yes, but what does that entail?" She smacked away his hand as they strolled over to the table, the cards divvied up as they sat in the free chairs and joined the game.

Alistair shook his head, watching the elf go, "I still can't believe you brought him along."

"I...I couldn't just kill him..."

"Ale, miss?" The innkeeper's wife had returned, and set the flagons down as Neria nodded, planting two silvers in her hand.

"Keep ours, and theirs, full please." Neria motioned to her friends, and the server checked the coin before nodding.

"I..." Alistair sighed, "I know... I know... He's seemed fine the past few days, I mean, if you can get past his..." he shook his head.

Neria grinned, the fatigue lifting with her stomach filled, "He's a bit much."

"That's an understatement." Alistair's eyes drifted as he reluctantly took up his flagon, "Well... oh hey! Peggy!" He scrambled from his chair and Neria just barely caught his cup before it spilt, and snagging a board, brought the game over. "Do you know how to play?"  
The mage's smile was there, but she looked down, fingers tightening around her flagon, "Yes - I played it growing up."

Setting up the board, Alistair moved the pegs and divided the wooden chips that were slotted in the base, "I haven't played since I was a boy, but it's something better than killing darkspawn, right?"

The server came by and refilled Neria's glass as she downed the weak, pissant ale, cringing so much it made Alistair laugh.

"It's not so bad," he said, rolling the dice and moving.

"Says you." Neria hiccupped and pressed a hand over her lips, blushing brightly and bringing another chuckle from the man. She followed with her own move, and he muttered as her coloured pegs advanced.

"Have I thanked you yet for sticking me in a room with a pair of murderers?"

Cheeks rosy from the ale, Neria played her move again and said, "Oh, you would rather come share a bed with one of us?"

"W-well I.. I..." Alistair blushed and concealed his words with his flagon, draining it before clearing his throat and adding airily, "No, you're right, th..this is proper."

Neria leant her head in her hand, watching him with a grin as she said under her breath, "Probably best. You'd be sharing a bed with Morrigan."

"Maker no, no no no... How can you even say that!" Alistair shuddered and then laughed, taking his turn and grumbled as Neria's move countered him.

"Well she laid claim to a bed for herself... you haven't discussed sleeping arrangements? I can't see you arguing with Sten, so..."

"I don't know which is worse..." Alistair sighed, "Morrigan or Zevran... which one wants me dead more?"

"Morrigan," Neria spoke over her flagon, drinking and laughing as Alistair's pitiful eyes met her. "I mean, none of them, Alistair, you're a gentleman and a warrior, seeking to save Ferelden from the Blight - how could they not adore you?"

"Yes, how indeed," he grumbled.


	11. Denerim

Rising at first light, Neria went down to the common room alone with her few books in tow. Settling at a table along the wall, she was brought some porridge. Spreading her books open, she continued her initial record of what had happened in the Brecilian Forest – one book chronicling their actions, appended with notes and history revealed, and the other on magic, written in her own cipher.

Apprentices in the Circle were taught the importance of documenting their spells and modifications they developed early on. Not only was the book written in a code she developed herself in the last few years, Neria aimed to place wards on the tome to prevent it from decay. The current one was degrading, and she worried it would not winter well.

 _The knowledge gained from the life gem phylactery in the Brecilian ruins still presents a challenge to dissemination attempts. The memories are half-formed and in a language I only partially understand – an antiquated form of the Arcanum, by all accounts._

 _What follows are the first stages that I have tested and implemented into my daily routine. For all intensive purpose, it appears to alter the magical fields I manipulate (if ascribing to the Sybilline theory of magic origin) on the subtlest of levels. It is difficult to rationalize. None the less, I document the translated memories so the knowledge will not die with me:_

Lighting a second candle, Neria uncorked her lyrium-augmented ink and with delicate care, inscribed her thoughts. Her focus so great, it was only as Morrigan cleared her throat that she twitched.

"Tis unwise to attend such matters in plain sight."

Hand hovering over the book, Neria blushed and said, "What?"

The apostate glanced at the familiar shimmer of words on the page as she leant into Neria, "Our eager companions come."

Shaking a sprinkle of fine sand over the ink, brushing it away before she clapped her books shut and stacked them in her lap. Standing, Neria snagged her inkpots and announced to their entourage, "We set out in a half hour."

* * *

Ualan bounded past Neria as they left the inn, scurrying after a rodent with an excited yelp. She sighed and watched him go, at a loss of what to do. His paws left tracks in the dusting of snow, and the sky overhead was clear, cold and humid.

Zevran strolled up beside her, "Ahh, the sea, can you smell it?"

"If that's the sea?"

Chuckling, the assassin produced a leather pouch, "Warden, I wished you to have this."

The pouch clinked as she felt the coins within, and Neria raised her brow.

"Profits from our game last night. Consider it a donation of goodwill to our cause, yes?"

"I.. thank you..." she could feel the weight of the coins within, and she offered a brief, tight-lipped smile. Her head was still throbbing - drinking was not something she was very accustomed to.

Ualan bounded back with something in his mouth, and Alistair almost bent to take it before making a sound. The hound dropped the dead rat, panting a wide grin up at the man.

"Uh, good boy...you keep that, I insist."

The mabari huffed low and scooped up its kill, trotting away as Neria lingered by Alistair's side, "How are you feeling?"

Shouldering his cloak closer, Alistair's eyes creased, "I think you were right about the ale."

The mage chuckled, trying to keep her hands wrapped as the wind kicked over the rolling landscape. A fog hung in the distance, obscuring the view of the city. "I was happy for the bed, even if it was shared. It was warm."

"I don't even want to think about it," Alistair murmured, glancing at the Antivan as he strolled along the dirt road.

The cold bit as Neria grinned, and she forced her lips closed, shivering as she said, "So Denerim."

"That is what they call it."

They quietly discussed their plans for within the city, finding Brother Genetivi, investigating anything on the Grey Wardens, and gathering supplies for their next move. They would need more funds if possible, and Neria wanted to visit a smith to have their armour repaired and fitted.

The morning fog lifted as the outer gates came into view, and Neria hugged her cloak closer. They agreed to split up even before entering the city, and she delegated the task of tracking down Brother Genetivi to Leiliana, Morrigan, and Sten.

"It is best we split the mages up, we need to draw as little attention as we can."

"Yes, because the giant is exceedingly inconspicuous," Morrigan said, pulling her own cloak tighter to keep out the cold and conceal her features.

"We will be fine," Leiliana assured Neria, giving her a light grin before looking to the city. Any happiness wilted away.

"Are you though?"

The Orlesian hesitated before meeting Neria's eyes, only to adjust her pack and lightly say, "Yes, just memories of Denerim."

Neria pointed across the road to a single oak that grew, beyond which was the growing refugee camp outside the city walls. "We'll meet there before sun down."  
The two parties split, leaving Neria between Alistair and Zevran.

"Ah, just the three of us, how delightful," the Antivan grinned and Alistair shook his head.

Trotting back to them, Ualan gave a wuff, his muzzle still bloodied.

"We should find him some new kaddis," Alistair ruffled the dog's head. "And a good collar, it might help save his neck in battle. Could check the Chanter's board too, make a bit of coin for supplies."

Zevran scoffed and drew their attention, "You know, I am as devout to the Maker as the next man, but it seems self-depreciating that either of you would aid the Chantry."

"The board is... for the common folk... it's just funded by the church." Neria's words were hacked together, and she looked to Alistair for confirmation.

"Yes, if anything we're just trying to take their money for helping others."

"Indeed," Zevran chuckled, pulling up his hood. "Elves are not permitted weapons in the cities, so we best keep concealed."

"That was the plan," Neria sighed.

They made it through the gates without incident, and wandering the streets, were able to navigate to the market. Neria was uncomfortable amidst the bustling crowds, and unconsciously clutched Alistair's arm when a gaggle of children chased around them. Ualan distracted them, woofing and rolling on the ground, much to their delight. He soaked up their lavish attention.

"Are you alright?"

The mage looked up to him, cheeks flushing, "Th... this is worse than Lothering. What will they do to me? I mean... if they knew..."

Alistair grinned and she hugged herself as he said, "You've been so headstrong, don't worry. No one will recognize us, just don't use your... well... you know."

Neria watched the children wrestle with the mabari and her tension evaporated. A girl stumbled up as Ualan head-butted her, and she looked up to the mage.

"That your dog?"

Arms still crossed, Neria flushed as she cleared her throat to state, "Yes."

"Does he fight?"

"Sometimes."

A woman shouted from one of the houses down the street, sending a pang of fear through Neria. The girl waved, nudged again by Ualan before she and her siblings ran off. The mage tried to shrug the tension from her shoulders.

"Where did Zevran go?"

Alistair sighed, "Maker, I don't know... believe me yet?"

The hair on the back of Neria's neck bristled, and she murmured "Let's keep going."

Alistair purchased a few things as they wandered, handing off a slab of meat to Ualan as he did. He spoke with the dog as Neria remained silent, scanning the crowds for their absent assassin. She noticed a group of guards being lectured by a man – another guard, though it was obvious he was higher rank, based on his expression.

Neria idled by with Ualan close on her heels. The common folk gave the guards a wide berth, and she could hear him sigh as he dismissed his charges. Catching her eye, he raised a hand.

"I'm sorry miss, I cannot help you – though given you have a mabari, something tells me... wait." The man appraised her as Alistair caught up with her. "Sergeant Kylon... you're the Grey Wardens, aren't you."

Exchanging glances, Neria stepped closer and kept her voice hushed, "How – how do you know that?"

"A likeness of you was passed to the guards a week or two ago – though miss, I must say they didn't quite do you justice." Neria's cheeks burned and the sergeant chuckled, "Don't worry, even if I was fool enough to believe what the teryn said, I wouldn't act on it. You two can obviously handle yourselves." Ualan ruffed and Kylon nodded, "My mistake – you three."

"It's reassuring to hear not everyone is swallowing Teryn Loghain's lies..." Alistair said.

"What? Believe that the Grey Wardens would be so short-sighted as to turn on the King – and that Loghain quit the field to save his men? Please..." The sound the sergeant made put Neria at ease. "Best keep a low profile, none the less, a large part of the city guard has been fattened with lower nobles – replacing good men lost at Ostagar." Kylon sighed.

After discussing the state of Denerim, the bannorn, and the Grey Wardens, they agreed to try and help the sergeant clean up the markets – it seemed the least that could be done for the safe harbour his silence offered. They soon left, Neria deeper in her hood, only to come about face into Zevran.

"Agh – where were you?"

The Antivan's eyes sparkled as he said in a hush, "I see you missed me?"

"I don't even have to keep Ualan on a leash," The mabari barked with pride as they wove through the market stalls.

"While I cannot deny your offer is tempting, Warden, I fear keeping me in such a state might draw unwanted attention."

"Are you kidding me?" Alistair's voice cracked as he gawked at the elf. Neria's cheeks coloured, and she crossed her arms.

"Not at all, good man. Some people may be averse to seeing me on a leash, tis true." Zevran sighed, "A pity indeed."

Alistair's irritation garbled in his throat, and he stepped closer to Neria, almost protectively.

"Let's just get this done," she murmured.

* * *

They spent the next nights in the refugee camp outside the city gates, though Neria caved to get them rooms at an inn when another storm blew in. It coated the land in a heavier, damp layer of snow to replace the meagre amounts that had melted away. Bodahn kept his cart running in the camp, making an easy profit buying and selling in the makeshift town of misplaced souls.

Preparations were underway to set out to Lake Calahad, learning that Brother Genetivi had gone there in his travelling research of the urn. They had all acquired heavier clothing to stave off the elements, and did odd jobs in the city to enable them to repair their armour. Neria had visited a smith, and returned to their joined rooms fitted in a suit of elven armour.

"I didn't know you had held onto that... wait... what are you doing wearing it, Maker – it..." Alistair stopped his packing, lashing the bag he had on the floor once more before standing.

Neria had her helm tucked under her arm, her limbs buzzing and almost electrified, "Come practise with me?"

"You want to spar?"

The elf's cheeks flushed rose and Alsitair laughed, giving her some guts, "Y-yes, I do."

Alistair looked out the window in disbelief before saying, "You have looked outside, right?"

"We have to get used to it. The snow's not going anywhere..."

Grumbling, Alsitair pulled on the pieces of armour he'd shucked for the evening, and followed her into the frozen garden and outdoor kitchen in the back of the inn. The light of day was just starting to fade.

"So where is everyone else?"

"Running errands," Neria grinned and clumsily donned the helmet, taking up her wooden practise sword.

"You know I've been handling a sword since I was a boy, right?"

"Really?" Neria narrowed her eyes, and a frosty glow scarce flickered over her waster and she took stance. In another moment, a subtle hum rose from her skin, warping the air around her.

"What are you doing?" Alistair took his own stance, adjusting his shield. "I hope you're not planning on turning me into a toad..."

"Never," Neria laughed, swinging the wooden sword before adding, "I... I just want to test a few things."

"Why don't I like the sound of that," he groaned.

In another moment, they engaged, and Neria grunted as their swords met. It wasn't her muscles though, no – she could feel the unnatural presence in her limbs, sense the strength she had gained. Alistair followed through and caught her with his shield, and the elf staggered. Neria kept her head, breath quickening, unused to the armour on her limbs – but somewhere within harkened to it like a secondary sense, and an ancient memory tinged her thoughts.

Her swing swished the air, and Alistair darted in riposte, his cut slowed as though in goo as it almost hit her.

"Agh, I knew it," he said, footwork following another roll of his blade that clattered with her sword. "You know I can tell you're using magic. I can feel it, Neria." He got off a clean blow, and the elf's armour clanked.

"Maker, this is terrible," Neria huffed, taking another batter of his shield and landing in the snow.

"Not so eager to take my place now, mm?"

Panting, Neria retook her defensive stance, tingling and ringing from the hits, "Guess it's better than being stabbed..."

They exchanged a few more glances, Alistair's advances parried with steady blocks.

"You have improved," he murmured, his own strain becoming audible, "Where is this power coming from?"

Neria laughed in a breath, catching against his leg. The move exposed her though, and her reply became a cry as his shield snagged her. She was knocked back a few paces, her arm out in defence. It left her dizzy, and closing her eyes she raised her sword.

What came next compressed in her chest, and Neria choked, the strangled sound escaping her lips as all the will drained from her, concentration shattered. Buckling to her knees, she could scarce keep from falling under the weight of the armour on her.

Her thoughts fled into her childhood, mired in a ring of templars, their stern faces on her as she fell. But Cullen – Cullen was kneeling over her, why did he sound so far away? It was someone else's voice...

"Neria, please say something."

"Maker... wh-why would you do that," she gasped, her senses half returning, smelling the earth and snow around them, the fear in his eyes, and his rough hands holding hers. The metal was so cold.

Neria tried to pull away, helmet clunking back down as her muscles trembled, "Why Alistair? Why w-would you do that?" In her mind she sounded stronger than it came out, and her head swam again. Falling sideways, she ripped off her helmet, smacking the ground with it as she retched. There were tears in her eyes as she spit the taste from her mouth.

"I-I.. I thought that..." Alsitair was lost, his own voice threatening to close off his throat, "I wasn't thinking – no, no... don't.. don't get up..." He supported her as she moved anyways, legs almost giving out again.

"You had no idea," Neria croaked, "Do you know wh..what that's like?"

Maker, her body was lead, she couldn't think, and her breath must have shuddered, because Alistair picked her up.

"No...no I don't..." he whispered, chastised. "I...we'll get you inside..."

Thankful no one saw them as they crept in the back of the inn. Alistair shut them into the warmth of the large room, and Neria struggled a bit as he put her down. Stumbling, she sank down to the floor with a clank of metal. She was trying to get the armour off, and it became obvious she hadn't fit it on herself as she struggled with the straps.

Neria growled in frustration, only succeeding in getting a vambrace off, and it hit the ground hard. Her head still buzzed, throbbing and thick, and the firelight showed the streak of tears down her enflamed cheeks.

"Here – here... let me... Let me help you – Neria!" Alistair caught one of her arms as they moved in a flurry to try and get it off, and the elf looked up at him with bright, cold eyes. She was breathing hard, and she pulled her arm free with ease.

"Fine," she whispered.

Alistair's fingers moved with care, the straps coming undone as Neria regained some of her sense. The fire seemed too bright, and she lifted her arms as he asked, and he pulled the half mail and plate cuirass off, letting her sigh out more fully. It left her in a simple jerkin, and she hugged herself and sat on the stool by the fire.

Down on one knee, Alistair unlatched her greaves, leaving her boots on as he looked away from the tight leather breeches she wore underneath. She'd never dressed like that before.

"I ehm... I'll show you how to put it all on... and take it off another time... I, well, I mean if you'd like. So you... don't need me to...It will take time to get used to it... calluses and that..."

Face in her hands, Neria leant her elbows on her knees, concealing her tears. She was supposed to be better than this now, Maker it was so much worse than she remembered.

"Neria, I'm so sorry." Alistair was crestfallen, setting the last piece of her armour aside, still on the ground before her. "It... it was instinct. Just reaction..."

"I know," she whispered, the sound underneath her palms. The hearth was radiating heat, but it wasn't breaching the penetrating cold within.

Alistair looked at his hands as they sat in silence, before he asked, "What is it like?"

Dragging her hands down her face, Neria was unable to conceal the shudder through her. "Truthfully?"

"Of course..."

Tongue rolling thickly in her mouth, "It's like... you lose everything inside...it just sucks away. Breath, life, spirit, like ... a candle going out. Or the ground pulling from underneath your feet."

"Maker, Neria, I..."

"I know..." she said more weakly, her head dropping again. There should be anger, there should be some ire or rage at him. Not even Cullen sounded so hurt. She covered her face again.

Fearful she might cry again, Alistair pulled Neria into his arms, cradling her in the heated firmness of his mail. His heart raced as her hand knocked against his chest, and he was without a voice. She smelt like the snow, how could she, and so many other things that just seemed to be... her.

The elf shivered and let her head fall against Alistair's chest. She had deprived herself of closeness, so often under the templar's eyes, embarrassed by the affections she'd seen between other apprentices. His lips touched her hair.

"I never want to hurt you, Neria."

There was the clunk of movement, and they broke apart with a start, looking to see Zevran dropping their wasters and Neria's helm.

"I thought, perhaps, you would not wish to leave these outside."

Speaking through her blush as Alistair turned away flustered, Neria hurriedly said, "Thank you, Zevran."

Chuckling, the assassin strolled into the other room and said, "Anytime, dear Warden."


	12. Feastday

A warm wind blew from the north the day they left Denerim, though the land remained crystallized and hoary as they trudged along the North Road. Neria tried her best to spend a part of the day travelling in armour, though her body loathed accomodating it for more than a few hours. When they rested the second night, Morrigan met Neria in the early morn, providing her with a salve to ease the tension.

"Why you insist on donning that, 'tis beyond me."

"It better protects me..." Neria closed her eyes, sitting in the warm lee of Morrigan's tent as her fellow mage rubbed the salve along her shoulders. "I learned something in the forest."

"Did you now."

"Ancient elven magic. I... I think it lets me channel my magic into physical strength."

Morrigan pulled Neria's chemise back up, and the elf quickly tied the front at her neck.

"And how did you learn this?"

"A life gem... there... was a mage inside."

"Why did you never mention this previously?"

Neria's cheeks coloured as she sat on her knees and pulled a leather jerkin on. Throwing on a woollen mantle, her arms disappeared beneath it. She stuck her face down into the fur lining, concealing her breath to try and keep her warmth. The humid wind seemed to bite through everything. "I did not think it pertinent."

"Go," Morrigan jeered and shooed the elf off, "Let me see it tomorrow morning."

The ground underfoot was half-frozen and muddy, the surrounding hills barren and dry. No doubt cattle had once roamed it, but the state of the grasses showed that it had long stopped being even a meagrely fertile place to roam. Passing Sten on her way back to the fire, Neria almost stopped as she saw what appeared to be a cookie disappear into his mouth. He didn't meet her gaze, and tilting her head quizzically, she hurried to accept a cup offered by Leiliana.

"Some tea before we go."

Huddled alongside the bard, Neria sighed over the steam, closing her eyes and soaking in the warmth that radiated off it. Despite the gloves on her hands, they were stiff and cold, but the tea offered a brief reprieve.

"What I wouldn't give to feel the sun," Leiliana sighed, looking at the bleak, overcast sky.

"Sun usually just means it'll be colder, in my experience." Alistair tied up his tent, before using it as a cushion from the half-frozen ground.

"In Orlais, there are only a few days in Haring where it gets so cold."

"And this isn't even that cold," Alistair murmured, lips disappearing over the edge of his cup. "Though usually the snows don't come for a few weeks yet."

"Wonderful," Neria replied, pulling the edges of her mantle closer to keep out the breeze. The bottom of it brushed the ground. She relished the still warmth a few moments more before rising to go don her cold armour.

Alistair followed soon after, and she turned as he inspected her work. He adjusted a few straps and Neria bit her lip as he said, "Getting better every day." He grinned as she pulled her mantle back overtop. "When I started wearing armour at the monastery, there were inspections each morning. And the Knight-Commander wasn't nearly as lenient as I am."

Neria rolled her shoulder, hand at her side, "It doesn't pinch here anymore."

"It shouldn't if you wear it right. Least you had this fitted," He moved with her as she collapsed her tent.

"You - you know you don't have to do this."

"Oh - right," Alistair flushed at the apples of his cheeks, "I'll just... go take care of something else..."

"Thank you - for helping with the armour, I mean. I can do the tent on my own," she grinned, and he gave an odd wave before gathering up their gear to throw on Bodahn's cart.

It wasn't midday before they came upon one of the battlefields from the civil war. The snow clung in boot prints and the dead had been left in the ruined pasture.

"I never imagined it would be so bad," Alistair said as they walked with care over the battered ground. They paused as he stooped, flapping some loose linen that was half frozen to the ground.

"White River…" he sighed and walked further before he skirted sideways and motioned, "And Arl Howe's standard. Destroying any of our allies."

"I don't like it here," Neria whispered.

"We can't just leave them here," Leiliana said.

"They're frozen to the ground – and how many dozens are here?"

Hand to her breast, Leiliana looked injured, "How could they just leave their dead?"

Breath huffing visibly in the air, Neria shivered and shook her head, pushing on. The rest followed, spread out in silence.

Once they crossed the Hafter River, the landscape spread out into plains, letting them see for miles around. It also left them unprotected from the elements, and their night camps were brief as a result. The wind was unrelenting, the days darker and shorter. When they were finally through the expansive farmland, they made for a copse of trees, hoping to find relief.

"It is a pity we couldn't have stayed in Denerim for Feastday."

Lips cracked, Neria looked up at the bard, "What? It's Feastday?"

"How time flies, that we are already so deep in Satinalia…" Seeing Neria's disgruntled expression, Leiliana continued, "Do not fret, I have always prided myself in following the calendar proper. In the Chantry, we had to observe many auspicious days and events, you see."

"It was a good time of year in the Tower," Neria whispered, her armour clinking as she walked, "Even the templars were in better spirits."

"I can imagine," Leiliana smiled, "Let's make camp early, and I will go see what I can gather for our feast."

Everyone was relieved to stop for the day in the shelter of a copse, and the clouds broke as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Light slatted through the half-barren trees, granting a warm glow over the frigid ground.

"Am I the only one who missed that it is Feastday?" Neria gathered some branches while Alistair swung an axe into a large section of deadfall.

"I am fairly certain Sten didn't think of it either."

"That's not reassuring," Neria's cheeks blushed darker from their rosy cold.

"Or Morrigan." The axe fell again.

"Maybe I should skulk away and see if she'll take me in…"

Ualan loped amidst the trees, tongue hanging out as he chased a rodent. He almost knocked Neria over, and she muttered to herself as she deposited the branches by Zevran, who was building the fire. She sniffled a bunch before sneezing into her arm.

"You seem as accustomed to the cold as I, Warden."

"I almost miss being locked in a tower," she murmured, setting the branches alight as Zevran leant back. "Is this your first winter here?"

"Yes, I have not spent one outside of Antiva before," he sighed, "At least most of the smells are gone."

"They are not all bad smells..."

"You say that now, but truly, do you know any better? We are far from any city or darkspawn."

Neria crouched as Zevran built the fire up. "Have you fought any darkspawn?"

"On our way to… my last job as it were, we found a dead group of them." The Antivan kept his eyes on the fire. "It was…unpleasant."

"Will you go back? To Antiva, I mean…"

Zevran chuckled, "I have not thought that far, might I take that as a boon to say you plan to release me from your service?"

Eyes down, Neria said, "After the Blight would be the soonest. I… I don't want to keep anyone in servitude."

"Of course, though perhaps our kind are used to such, yes?" Zevran reclined and shifted, his heavy cloak concealing his movements. "Do you plan on returning to your Tower?"

"I will always be serving," Neria quietly said, "I will always be a Grey Warden."

There was a clunk as Bodahn plunked a cask down, and Neria stood.

"The archer miss, eh, Leiliana purchased this fine wine."

"Oh ho, so it will be Feastday after all?" Zevran licked his lips with a feline grin.

"I was the only one… won't you join us, Bodahn?"

"Thank you kindly miss, but my boy is a bit under the weather."

"Would you like me to see him? I might be able to help."

The dwarf waved in dismissal, "Aw no need, it's just a touch of cold. But I wouldn't feel right if I didn't stay with him."

"He's lucky to have you."

"Aye, well – maybe." Bodahn chuckled and strolled away, "Either way, have fun with your eh, festival thing."

Leiliana was able to shoot down a buck and she didn't hesitate to sing Sten's praises for skinning and dressing it. As twilight settled, the cuts were cooked over the roaring flames they gathered around, eating as the bard wove through a tale of the seas.

"And it is said that should ever a wayward captain find his way back to the straits, the demon will rise to claim and devour his soul."

"I can't imagine being at sea," Neria whispered, cupping her mulled wine close.

"Sea travel is not for the faint of heart – or stomach, truly." Zevran replied, stabbing at a potato near the coals to test it.

"Is that how you got to Ferelden?"

"Ah, yes."

"Oh, oh!" Leiliana started, floating to her things to gather a bundle. "It is not much but I bet once you try it, it will be the best thing you have ever tasted." The bard sat and snapped something apart in the low light.

"What is it?" Alistair accepted another mug of wine from Neria with a grin, a light flush over his nose and cheeks.

" _Chocolat_ … there was an Orlesian merchant in the Denerim market." She passed the parchment to Sten, who took two pieces.

"Hmm. I am familiar with this."

Neria could scarce believe the brief moment when the qunari's stoic exterior lifted as he ate a bit. The mage smelled her piece before biting some off, and the dark confection snapped pleasingly. It melted blissfully on her tongue and she met Leiliana's smile.

"It was always my favourite when I was young…" Leiliana nibbled some of the treat.

The savouring silence was broken when Morrigan piped, "So, is this when we make Alistair king for the eve?"

Choking on his wine, the ex-templar sputtered, "Wh-what?"

"Tis that not the tradition? To make the village idiot ruler for a day?"

Zevran snickered and Leiliana had to cover her mouth as Alistair wiped the dark, spilt wine from his chin and went, "Ha, ha… very funny."

Eating her last bit of chocolate, Morrigan inclined her thanks to Leiliana as she got up and said, "Who said I was joking?"

As the apostate left, more wine was passed about, Sten stoic amidst the elven and human laughter and chatter. They ate the venison and savoured more of the rich sweets that Leiliana had stowed away for them. Each mote played its role in the night, and for the first in many, winter's clutch didn't seem so cold.

It was late when all but the two of them had retired, and the mulled wine was still warm in their bellies as Alistair and Neria lingered at the edge of camp on watch. Their backs to the fire, the mage looked at the sky. It was clear, and she was about to comment on the constellations when Alistair spoke.

"Here – do you know what this is?"

Neria snapped her gaping lips closed as she looked from the rose he'd placed in her hand up to Alistair. She suppressed her grin and said, "Your new weapon of choice?"

"Yes!" He took a combative stance, "See how I fell our enemies with my power of floral arrangement." He swiped through the air before lowly rumbling, "Fear my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!"

Lightly laughing, Neria touched the petals to her lips. They were soft and cool. "Always so wily."

"You know me," Alistair grinned and looked down between them, "I picked it in Lothering… there it was, something beautiful growing amidst all that chaos. It didn't feel right leaving it there to be crushed under some darkspawn's foot."

"And you… saved it for Satinalia?"

Meeting her eyes, Alistair chuckled before his voice softened, "Maybe… but it, well… it made me think of you."

"You think I'm a gentle flower?"

"No, no, not at all…" He sighed, cheeks flushed. "Here you are, trying so hard, when you've had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden. You've taken up leading us when I just couldn't…I wanted you to know how rare and wonderful you've been through all the dark days we've encountered." He looked down again, "I know it's not been easy. I, well, wanted you to know… and have that."

Her throat thick, Neria replied, "Thank you, Alistair… that's a lovely thought."

"I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't here." He hesitantly took her hand, and the mage's chin dropped. "I've… come to care for you a great deal."

Neria tightened her fingers in his grasp, and she could tell he smiled.

"It's… not too soon for this, is it?"

The wine warmed through her and Neria escaped her shied self, light-headed as she looked up and shook her head, "No… I feel the same way."

"Right – so, so with that out of the way, I don't suppose we can just move right on to the steamy bits?"

Neria's cheeks darkened as her mouth fell open, and it was a moment before they both nervously laughed.

"I, ehm, meant because it's so cold, you know?"

Eyes down, Neria rest her forehead on Alistair's chest and poked him in the abdomen. Unguarded by armour, he almost squeaked, expression lopsided as his cloaked moved and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Good… this is good, right?"

He was warm and smelled of fire, wine and wood. Beneath it all was him, dirty and musky exertions. It was winter on the road, none of them could regularly bathe. Neria closed her eyes and whispered, "I hope so."


	13. The North Road

"Please ser, we are simple folk, this land is ours to use. We have paid fealty to the Couslands, please let us be!"

The soldiers laughed, though their lieutenant glared and merely pushed the farmer over into the snow. "Your ruler is Teryn Howe now, and if you wish 'is protection, you best pay up."

"Or don't you know the Cousland's is dead?"

One of Howe's soldiers picked up one of the young women cowering on her knees by the arms, and she cried out, trying to sink back down.

"Shut it!"

"Ey," The lieutenant pointed at Neria as she moved closer, "Keep moving, you've no business here. Bloody elves."

"Please, help us!"

The lieutenant's right hand man backhanded the farmer who spoke to the ground.

"Certainly we can help with the situation," Neria said, hand aside as Alistair stepped up.

"Just move along if you know what's good for you."

"Is there not enough going on? You don't need to harass people."

"Who are you to talk?" The soldiers formed ranks as the farmer was pulled to a safe distance by his family.

"Neria," Her eyes flickered, breath visible in the chill air, "A Grey Warden. Why don't you save your strength for the darkspawn and leave."

"Is it true? There's a Blight?" The boy who spoke was quickly silenced by his mother, a hand clamping his mouth to pin him to her.

"Yes."

The soldiers pulled their swords, and the lieutenant spat on the ground, "There's a price on your head for killing the king. Damned if I let you walk away."

Alistair had already drawn his weapon, shield at the ready as Neria lifted a hand. Likewise, Zevran was armed, and the taut tension of a bowstring was there behind the mage.

"The teryn abandoned us at Ostagar, we're not the enemy!"

Her words were lost as the lieutenant ordered his men forward, and Neria raised her arm, jarred as her veridium greave stopped the assault. Staff spun from beneath her mantle, she tightened her fingers and hit the man with a conjured rock. Planting her feet, she focused her magic and sent a wave of icy air across the group, freezing half the men in place.

She heard Zevran laugh beside her as he spun and cleanly slit the throat of one of the soldiers, flowing to stab another in the gut. The commoners screamed and scrambled farther, children concealed from the scene. More metal clashed amidst bright orbs of magic bolts as the soldiers were dispatched and crumpled to the ground.

Leiliana unfurled a poultice to pack against a spurting wound on Zevran's arm, and he murmured a quiet thanks. Head throbbing, Neria breathed a healing word and let magic infuse into the wound to staunch the flow. Their weapons sheathed, she turned to the farmer.

"Are you alright?"

"Get away from us! We don't have anything you need, Maker, I swear!" The man recovered one of the soldier's daggers and was brandished it at them.

Zevran murmured something in Antivan and narrowed his eyes.

The young woman beside the man cried, "Papa, no."

Neria kept her distance, pushing the few strands of hair that had come free back under her wrappings and wiping the blood from her cheek.

"Please, just go. Thank you for saving us, Maker watch over you. B-but go, we – we don't want any trouble from a mage – or a Warden." The young woman pushed her father's hand down, and he dropped the dagger. "If they find out, they'll come after us."

Heart hardening, the elven mage bit her tongue and grimaced, turning away without further word. While Alistair and Zevran followed, Leiliana lingered.

"She just saved your lives, and you turn up your noses at her."

The family only looked at her once, trying to gather her things.

Leiliana could only shake her head in disbelief, "The Maker has truly turned His eye from us."

"Leiliana."

Adjusting her bow, the bard hurried after her companions, swallowing her vehemence. "How can you not let it bother you?"

Neria kept her head down, "I expect it."

Trudging through the snow in silence, Alistair waited until they passed the next parcel of land and caught up with the rest of their entourage before speaking.  
"Did you hear that soldier? If the Couslands are dead…" he sighed.

"What does it mean?" Neria crossed her arms under her mantle, still shaking slightly from the fight. It unsettled her when they were forced to kill men.

"They were huge supporters of the Theirin bloodline, they sent troops to Ostagar. They may have allied with us. Teryn Cousland fought with King Maric in the rebellion. But so did Rendon Howe."

"Politics are a deadly game, and greed the greatest motivator," Zevran commented, surveying the landscape.

Alistair popped off his helmet and scratched the wool cap he had on underneath, "If that's the case, it makes me think maybe more planning went into this than we thought."

"But Loghain is the hero of River Dane – he… he fought for King Maric for years. He was his best general. I don't get why he'd do any of this."

Lips in a grim line, Alistair shook his head, eyes down in thought, "I don't know either. It just seems to get worse and worse."

Thankfully, the weather grew milder as they passed south of West Hill, and it raised their spirits. When met with another altercation, the Wardens fought alongside the bann and defeated the encroaching Teryn Loghain's men. With it came thanks and the promise of aid from their lord.

Even deep-set in winter, Lake Calenhad had not frozen in recorded history, and as they emerged from the hills, this season showed no difference. Neria had to stop on the slopes and take in the view, heart palpitating as she saw her once home rising above the mists that clung to the distant shore.

"Well it's about time." Alistair cut through the dried meat in his grasp, popping it in his mouth as he stood beside her. "We have a treaty for the Circle of Magi, we should stop in for tea?"

"Trying to make a joke?" Neria weakly asked.

"I don't know, is it working?"

The mage stared at the spire, a breeze coming up the hillside and bringing with it familiar smells. Her last day in the Tower, her closest friend turned up a blood mage. The last time she saw it, Duncan was alive, she had been a different person, unseasoned, innocent and free. Had she been free – was she?

"Hey," Alistair's voice softened as the rest of their troupe walked by, taking the rocky, frozen slopes with care. The horse pulling Bodhan's cart was faring better than the rest.

Blinking her thoughts away, Neria shook her head and followed the rest, leaving Alistair to catch up. "We won't reach it by sun down. We'll camp soon."

The undulating hillside and trees where they made camp obscured the view of the lake, and when Leiliana woke her in the night, Neria found herself in Zevran's company for the watch. They weren't often together, splitting their elven eyes to aid the others. They talked for a while about the Crows and Antiva, though the assassin soon withdrew, sombre in the memories of his homeland, and the sounds of night filled in before he spoke a while later.

"And what of you – here we are, returning to your nest."

Neria tossed more wood on the fire, keeping her senses alert as she said, "I was happy there, but now going back… it distresses me."

"Mm."

"Even if I only traded my caged life there for one of duty to the Grey Wardens."

A breeze flickered the firelight, and the shadows played on Zevran's features as he tilted her way, "As I can attest, a leash seems a great freedom after life in a cage."

Neria's expression relaxed into a slight smile as she looked down. "I hope you don't feel that way."

"What, feel free?"

"That I'm trapping you." Neria raised her eyes, "It's hard to believe you came here to kill me. You've… been a great help."

"Ah ha ha, did I not say I have many talents?" The Antivan raised his brow, eyes sweeping over her, "And you have made use of so few."

Neria scoffed and shook her head, a blush on her cheeks as she muttered something. Zevran's grin grew as he watched her still.

"I'm going to do a patrol," she murmured under her breath, pushing up and striding off before he could reply.

* * *

The sun was setting when they took the last hill down to the docks of Lake Calenhad. Neria was distracted, and she may have wandered to the boats if her companions hadn't pulled her with them into the Spoiled Princess.

The tavern common room only had a handful of people in it, and Leiliana ordered a round for them as they grouped at two tables near the back. A mousy waitress soon brought them food as well, a simple fried fish that was much appreciated.

"I thought you weren't supposed to eat fish out of the lake," Alistair mused, cautiously stabbing his piece with a fork.

"Might be from elsewhere," Neria licked her lips, finishing quickly.

"Right, because it would make sense to get fish somewhere other than right out the front door."

Offering a tired grin, the elven mage left their table to speak with the proprietor.

"Ello, what can I – my, now there's a face I didn't expect to see again. Come to help with the Circle troubles?"

Neria furrowed her brow, a hand nervously tracing over her ear, "What's happening at the Tower?"

"Don't know, it's all very hush hush. But Kester's not been at the ferry for days now – one of the templars is guarding it."

"What?"

"You of all should know how much the Circle keeps to themselves." The innkeeper leant on the counter, tugging at the collar of his shirt, "Wasn't you the one who came through with the Warden? Heard terrible things about Ostagar…"

Visibly distraught, Neria absently said, "Yes… oh…" Shaking her head, "Have you seen a scholar named Genetivi? A Chantry brother, investigating the Urn of Sacred Ashes – we were told he came here."

"Oh-ah, nope – not at all, never heard of him." The innkeeper's eyes darted away.

"Are you certain? It may have been some weeks ago now… admittedly, I don't know what he looks like." Neria sighed, noticing the man's unease, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, oh no brother here," he smiled nervously.

"Another ale," Neria leaned towards him, smiling uncharacteristically, "Now what do you really know? It's very important."

Filling a flagon at the spigot before setting it in her waiting hands, the man said, "Nothing, nothing, Maker I swear. Just they's been watching the inn for anyone asking about Genetivi. I have a family, please."

"Who are they?"

Forcing a smile, the innkeeper said, "Don't know, now there's your drink."

Two coppers smacked on the counter and Neria slunk back to her seat. She put the flagon on the ground and Ualan eagerly lapped it up.

"I'm going to the Tower, something's happened. That and the innkeeper…" She sighed and bridged a hand over her brow, taking her own flagon and trading it with the one the dog emptied.

"Is that a good idea?" Alistair asked.

"He can hold his liquor better than me."

"What of Brother Genetivi?" Leiliana passed her flagon between her hands.

"Something is going on, I am starting to believe that assistant you spoke with lied to us." Neria sighed and Ualan put his head in her lap. Ruffling his ears she said, "That man's been staring at me since we came in."

"See Warden, it is not only me."

Neria and Alistair cast Zevran a scolding glance, but the elf merely chuckled and drank more ale, only able to gulp once before grimacing.

"We're leaving for the Tower. Finish up."

"Excuse me?" Morrigan interjected, "Do you think I would voluntarily go to such a place?"

"They are mages just like us, Morrigan… what if they need our help?"

The apostate scoffed, "I am nothing like you or them."

"Vashedan. Your people have an odd attitude toward magic," Sten shook his head. "I will watch the mage."

"You? Watch me?"

"Yes."

"And you trust the word of this murderer, Warden?"

Neria left a few more coppers on the table with a sigh, "Well you've said you won't come. If Sten is put off by the Tower too… I'm not forcing either of you. Maker knows I should."

They all stood as the elven mage did, and Morrigan caught her arm as the other walked for the door. "You will remember what we spoke of, I hope?"

Brow creased, Neria closed her eyes before finally saying, "I will look."

Morrigan loosed her grip, and the elf adjusted her mantle, "Tis not a place I have ever wanted to go."

"Do you think the rest of us want to go there? Any mage, I mean."

Morrigan looked away. "It is… safer if I am not there. This way, the templars will never know of me."

Neria nodded, her worry growing as she glanced at the door.

"Perhaps we may learn more in your absence. If not here, we will make camp nearby and await your return."

Nodding again, Neria left her fellow mage, and Morrigan sank into her chair, Sten nearby with a stony gaze.

"Just think of the fun we will have, Sten."

Not bothering to look at the apostate, the qunari merely grumbled.

Following her companions out the door, Neria was met by an ambush that awaited them. She barely fell out of the way as a longsword sought her, stumbling into a nearby spruce.

"In the name of Andraste!"

Leiliana vaulted atop some shipping crates, priming her bow, and the fiery arrow pierced the thigh of one of their attackers. The wounded man was set on by Ualan, who viciously jerked his arm, dislocating the man's shoulder and eliciting a scream.

Neria grunted at the impact in her side, the mail there preventing the attack from breaking skin. With a quick word, she drew his life force, and the attacker stumbled. The haze diffused into her body, throbbing where a deep bruise formed along her waist.

Down to the last man, Alistair battered him with his shield and pinned him down, a sword at the leader's throat. "Who sent you?"

The man's lips moved in prayer, and he reached for his sword, only to be met with Zevran's dagger as his hand was stabbed to the ground. Seething, his reddened eyes opened wide. "The prophetess is borne anew, and soon her fires will cleanse the wicked and unbelievers."

They looked amongst each other with disbelief, and in their distraction the cultist grabbed for his dagger.

"Pure in her eyes as she takes to the sky, beholden, we, her chosen will -"

Alistair was almost tripped, and he impaled his sword through the cultist's shoulder, blade chinking between the gaps in his armour. Crying out as more of his blood spilt, the man's eyes unfocused with a shudder.

"Just end it," Neria whispered, and Zevran sank to slit his throat. The elven mage cupped a hand over her mouth.

"It was a mercy," Leiliana said.

They piled the bodies and set them alight on the rocky shore of Lake Calenhad, Neria silent as the others discussed the attack. Ualan nudged her leg, and she dropped a hand to his head.

"I see you've come back, a Grey Warden now – my paps used to tell me stories about them."

Neria turned and something softened as she saw the ferryman. "You remember me?"

"Course, pretty elf like you – that and not many mages leave Kinloch," he chuckled, "Usually going the other way in amongst templars, if you know what I mean."  
Neria looked over the lake. The moon was rising and the sky was clear, letting the stars stand as a glittering backdrop to the shadowed spire. "What's happening?"

"Dunno, miss. The templars never tell old Kester much of anything. Can't be good though."

She met her companions where the long, aged dock intersected the shore. In the shadow of the Tevinter ruins that ran half-broken across the water, Neria crossed words with the templar on guard. She was able to convince him to let them across.

Finally in the boats, the mage was silent to queries as they crossed the water, eyes on her former home, and dread in her stomach deepening. The templars on the far shore were helmeted and unrecognizable, and as Ser Carroll paddled away, Neria approached the knights from the shore.

"Halt and state your business," one stepped forward, while another behind him rest a hand on his sword, feeling the magic she brought with her.

Letting her spells drop, Neria lifted her chin, "I am Neria, a Grey Warden, and I come to speak with the First Enchanter regarding treaty obligations."

With a shake of his head the templar replied, "Take them to the Knight-Commander. Best he deals with this."

Ualan growled low in his throat, sticking by Neria's side as they ascended the exterior steps.

"Almost sounds like we know what we're doing," Alistair murmured.

Gazing up the unforgiving stone exterior, Zevran took two steps to catch up to Neria, "Lovely home you have here. Are they always so friendly?"

Keeping her eyes on the doors, Neria paled even as she softly said, "That was friendly."

Through the antechamber she could hear Gregoir's firm voice giving orders, and the throng of templars around him departed as the doors opened. When his tired eyes found her, Neria wanted nothing more than to run back out and flounder in the lake – flounder, because she would drown if she tried to swim for the other shore. But it seemed preferable.


	14. Veneficus Kinloch Hold

"We are unrested, and have no idea what is in there." Leiliana furrowed her brow as Neria prepped a few poultices and potions on the apothecary's bench in the ancillary room.

"I have some idea," Neria whispered.

"So do I."

The mage lifted her eyes to Alistair before watching her hands, deftly wrapping the final bandage around the paste and securing it to be ready for use.

"This has been going on for days. Who knows how many people have already died, who've already…" Neria choked on her words, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"I know this is your home, but we cannot just rush in."

"The number of mages we can take to war against the archdemon dwindles," she replied.

"Then we go." Zevran said, fitting the bottles he had prepped himself into the slots on his belt. "We have minced enough words."

Thankful eyes to Zevran, Neria put her helm on and Ualan ruffed his consent, trotting ahead of her to wait by the doors as the templars pulled the bolt off.

"Once you're in there's no coming back… the First Enchanter is the only one able to break the seal."

Though she recognized the templar's eyes, Neria said nothing, and waved a hand. A grisly scene met them, and the clank of the heavy doors securing behind them sounded like a closing tomb.

There were bodies in the hall, a templar and mage alike crumpled near where their blood spattered the stone. The scent of death and decay was heavy in the air.

Leiliana's breath caught, "Maker's mercy…"

"Check every pulse," she whispered, breaking away to hurry in the nearest door. She couldn't keep the anguish from breaking out, and Alistair saw her hands fly over her mouth to silence herself as he stepped. His hand scarce touched her shoulder before she pulled away and darted to each body she saw.

Adarius. She shook her head and scattered back towards the change rooms. Verexa. There was so much more blood. It followed her, blood everywhere.

Alistair followed after her on silent steps, Ualan with him, whimpering and sniffing here and there with dissatisfied huffs. Neria pattered by into the hall and almost ran into Zevran. He was coming back from another of the rooms and stopped her.

"You do not want to go there, Warden. You will find nothing you know."

Clenching her jaw to hold back her tears, Neria shook her head, and exhaled roughly out her nose. A clap of thunder echoed down the hall, reverberating through the stone, and she shook his grasp to take off after it. All they could do was follow.

"Wynne!"

Supported in a young woman's arms, the elderly mage lifted her head. All around them were children and teens, apprentices in the tower. They were in the room the very place she had betrayed Jowan, where Duncan had recruited her to be a Grey Warden.

"Thank you, Petra… Neria ?" Wynne accepted the brief hug that Neria gave her.

Neria looked amidst the mages present, "They… they've sent for the Right of Annulment. It hasn't come from Denerim yet, but I…" She put a hand over her mouth, eyes glistening, "Oh Wynne."

"Hope is not yet lost." The mage touched the elf's cheek before glancing to her companions. "It is good to see you were not lost at Ostagar, child. But why are you here?"

Ualan ran from his mistress as she spoke with Wynne, loping amidst the children and gathering them after him. He won them over, and they rubbed any part they could. He had slobbered and licked tired smiles onto their faces by the time Neria clicked for his attention. He sat up with perked ears.

"Ualan, stay here with the children. It's your job to protect them."

The mabari wuffed and rolled over again, almost knocking a small boy with him.

"Leiliana, I want you to stay as well," Neria was pale as she raised a hand to quiet her friend. "It's obvious you're good with children. Tell them stories…and..."

"Of course, I'll do anything I can."

"The boys will join us, then?" Wynne asked, appraising Zevran and Alistair.

"No, no. Her fellow Warden a boy of the Chantry perhaps, but is it not obvious I am a man," Zevran waved his hand with subtle flair.

"Hey…"

"You were at Ostagar as well."

"I was," Alistair replied, expression solemn.

"Then let's see if I can take down this barrier. I don't know how I've kept it up." Wynne sighed, frowning in concentration. "So long as we take care of every abomination we encounter, they should be safe."

"Good luck," Petra hurriedly said, standing on the defensive in their wake.

Launched through surreal gore, they encountered a clot of abominations and risen undead, and Neria drew her longsword when much of her magic buffeted them without affect. The blade flickered with unnatural fire, the runes low on the blade lending it the glow.

"A swordsman now?" Wynne asked as Neria battered the last undead, the skeletal remains scattered at their feet.

"I – I don't know if I'd go that far," she replied, pulling off her helmet to try and catch her breath, brow and hair matted with sweat.

"You have learned much in your months away from us."

There was blood streaked down Neria's neck, and her hair caught in some of it as she hurried to check on another body. A human - Thomas. She'd seen him in the library sometimes, more of a recluse than she was. She rapidly blinked the tears from her eyes.

"It just seems to get worse," Neria whispered.

When they were forced into conflict against a trio of blood mages on the second floor, the truth of what happened began to unravel.

* * *

Across the room, a mage shuddered, lashes of magical energy winding about his limbs as the disfigured abomination all but purred. Behind it, a flask shattered on the ground and a toxic gas issued forth, enveloping it and the demons behind it.

A roar met Neria as the abomination turned, spell broken, the mage it held flung to the floor. The glimmer of protective force around her fell as her mind faltered, faced with an alternative future self.

That could have been her, never mind a failed Harrowing, if she had not escaped to become a Warden. It could still be her.

"Neria!" Alistair cried, and he twisted, caught in the throng of demons as he swiped them back with his shield to buy a moment's breath.

The abomination screamed and cursed, the filth of the words a discordant tremor in the air. Sword in hand, Neria was able to run one of the warped mages through, like stabbing molasses, and blood as red as her own spurted out. Her grimace became a permanent fixture.

Caught in the fray, one of the demons contorted and nearly dislocated Neria's wrist as it jerked. A bolt of energy leapt from her hand, and the shade howled but held firm. The fallen abomination at her feet hissed, and she blacked out, the air sucked from her lungs as it erupted into a consuming fireball.

Light seeped between her eyelids as Alistair tore off her helmet. He was saying her name, though it sounded through water or a wall. A cooling wash of magic rose through Neria and she breathed deeply.

"Oh thank the Maker," he huffed.

Loathe to open her eyes, the rising blisters on her skin were soon soothed and Neria murmured, "Romel?"

The elf smiled down at her, his face beside the distraught features of her fellow Warden.

"It really is you."

"You're alive," she croaked, tears welling as she sat up. She could feel the subdued burns down her body, and bits of her armour still radiated heat.

"So are you."

"Yes," she almost laughed, taking Alistair's hand to get up. "And you're a full mage." Pulling away, her expression fell ashen and she hugged the elf, much to his surprise. "You need to get out," she whispered.

He frowned and met Neria's eyes as she pulled back to pick up her sword and adjusting the grip.

"Go down to the first floor. Petra and the rest of the survivors are holding there."

"I can come and help."

Striding sideways to extinguish a pile of burning books with a quick spell, Neria shook her head, dizziness swimming through her, "You staying alive is a bigger help."

Romel regarded her with certain awe, and spoke as Alistair tapped her shoulder, "You've changed so much."

The timbre of his voice made her throat ache as she backed out the door. Pointing down the hall, she looked at him with soot-clung eyes and ordered, "Get downstairs. Now."

The male mage jogged into the hall after them, calling out, "There are templars nearby. I don't know if they're still alive."

Hesitating as Zevran listened at the next door, Neria affixed her helm and said, "Thank you, Romel. Go."

Neria was knocked out again by the templars they encountered, a desire demon possessing and setting them against each other. Zevran and Alistair held, their battle prowess winning over, and somehow they even managed to keep from killing all the knights. The Antivan had them bound before they, or Neria, regained consciousness. She and Wynne were on the ground, and the elven mage took the water Alistair offered as he helped her sit up. One of her ears was ringing, and his voice was muffled.

"We have to keep moving. How many more floors can there be?"

Neria blinked, unfocused as she watched the ex-templar. He snapped his finger beside her head, but she was too distracted by the erratic thud of her pulse. She touched her ear, fingers slipping in the blood that dribbled from it.

"Wynne, can you help her?"

"Your cleanse is much stronger," Neria whispered, the sound of her voice airy.

Alistair almost smiled, his brow furrowing as he laid her back down. The elder mage moved stiffly, sinking to her knees. Backing up, the Warden met Zevran's adamant gaze and crossed his arms. A magic aura soon buffeted from the two women, and Neria coughed and cursed.

"We must press forward to find Niall…"

"Yes, yes," Neria weakly said, forcing herself up.

* * *

The demon screamed as its connection severed, the stone beneath it blackening from its last effluvia of rage and fire. The sound rang through the wide chamber, and Neria pushed past with a hurried hobble to where she'd seen movement.

There was a woman with fair hair, a mage whose face Neria could place.

"Diana – oh, it is a ble…" Wynne's voice trailed off as the mage turned.

A bloody trail caked the front of Diana's robes, and she held a length of shredded sinew that was connected to the unnatural growth that pulsed and crept over the stonework behind her. There was a crack as her jaw dropped and a deep, Fade-tinged voice rumbled out.

"More meat this way comes," Diana licked her lips and the skin on her neck bubbled and distorted, broken between the demon in her and her own frightened, feminine nature.

The nearby door broke open and a trio of demons spilt in at the summons. The reflexive swath of cold that evolved from Neria's hand merely dusted them, the temperature dropping as bits of condensed ice flaked from their undulating forms.

Shaking her head, Neria unsheathed her sword and swung the blade across Diana's neck. The demons howled as their master bled, but the possessed mage only distorted more, the fount of blood coming alive into a tremble of vines.

"Maker…"

The clang of sword and dagger behind Neria melded with the guttural sounds the demons made as they fought. The elven mage yelled and sliced through one of Diana's limbs, cutting the bloody vines that threatened to entangle her.

"Feed us," the creature purred and snagged Neria, pulling her into the warm gush of blood spilling from it.

Shuddering heavily, Neria shook her head and snapped from one of the vines, the dagger at the small of her back freed and sunk into her aggressor's torso. A jerk of her wrist tore it through and freed the abominations entrails, and it wailed, shuddering and slumping into her.

Neria stumbled back and collapsed onto her hands and knees as her allies disposed of the last demon, and the sudden quiet left her retching sob echoing off the stone. Her white hair clung to her cheeks, stuck by sweat and blood as she shivered, fingers trying to dig into the floor. Before someone could touch her, she shook her head and hauled up, waving off a spell from Wynne with scarce a thanks.

Sleep deprived and battered, Neria led them down the hall. The bodies of good men and woman, people from her youth, lay in their wake. The few that weren't beyond saving were little comfort to her. She didn't know what rest came for them, encountering the Sloth demon short minutes later and succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue of its power.


	15. Sloth

There were whispers in the air, and the absence of insects or leaves, or the normal chaos of reality, allowed Neria to quickly get past the temptation. The warped looking-glass world was familiar to her right away. Outside of her dreams, she had hoped to not find herself trapped in the Fade again. Her Harrowing had been more than enough.

Already she had killed Duncan, Yader, and some faceless Grey Warden mage to escape. No – no it wasn't them. They were dead. They were just fabrications.

But Niall was here, one of the few mages she'd met when she toured the upper levels of the Tower after her test. He was trapped too, though it had taken some convincing on his part to persuade her he wasn't part of the scenery.

And now she had turned into a mouse, and all the sounds and whispers were stronger. In her acute ears, the airs that fabricated the Fade sung a different tune. Neria twitched her nose, hiding in the shadows while she nibbled on a lyrium crystal.

Gah! Stop that.

Squeaking despite herself, Neria recoiled and groomed her face, eyeing the swirled blue crystal that was twice the size she was.

She had been wandering tunnels and doing something, she needed to be doing something. The fragment of crystal cracked in her teeth, the shaved dust gone, dissolved on her tiny tongue. It brought clarity – they were trapped in the Fade. And there was fighting! She couldn't flee, no , no, she should be fighting!

Shaking her mousy head, Neria released the form and felt herself projected into relative normality. Her heart lurched as she saw the darkspawn, an echo of the sensation they drew in real life, and her thoughts cleared. Staff in hand, she cast a chill over the hurlocks that besieged the templar, letting him smash through them with relative ease. Together the group was soon defeated, their bodies dissolving into the ether.

"Thank you, miss... however an unlikely an ally, you have freed me..." Already the templar's form began to lose cohesion. "Take this, and you too shall be free."

Tingling energy filled out her limbs, and Neria had to close her eyes, steadying her staff on the ground as the sensation rolled through. Just one more thing that life in the Tower had not prepared her for. Feeling the power build, she spoke the incantation, arms spread wide, and in a burst of light she became connected to the Fade.

There was a wind she had never noticed before, and looking at herself, she saw her legs gone, leaving the tattered edges of an ephemeral robe. Her hands were equally as ragged, long digits frayed like old linen. Closing her eyes, the breeze blew through her, dragging her essence and spreading it out, yet somehow she remained whole. She was magic without physical form, visible thought.  
The whispers had gone, and clear notes were left behind in her mind, like lonely bells in the night – but each rang clear, a communication, a feeling, an idle comment or observation. It was clear she didn't grasp the language.

Extending her hand, the pedestal appeared at her command, a physical representation of the links she could see, silver threads that connected it all. The bells rang differently, sparkling bright as she envisioned her destination. Her form whorled away in a gust and the compound dissolved into the eye of the storm.

Neria's stomach twitched as she was tugged away, the motes of dust and form cohering into another room. Power tingling through her limbs, she drifted through the floating bookcases to find the beings who would stand in the way of her escape.

* * *

The desire demon Vereveel dissolved into nothing at her feet, and Neria closed her eyes, cherishing the rage that consumed her body. Her leathery, dried skin relished the burn, sustained by the perpetual flames that caressed it. It was a fiery, passionate lover, every scream, zeal, and paroxysm materialized in the insatiable crack and pop of her skin, her sinew, her soul.

She had underestimated the appeal of fire in her icy studies.

The world shifted, even if it could not be seen, it was felt in the air she consumed in her effulgence. The chess pieces moved, planned and set, as the Sloth demon strove to maintain its house of cards.

Wynne and Alistair were freed, and there was but one more thing to take care before she would be able to find the way to the Sloth demon.

Hand a ball of flame, Neria brought the pedestal to life, willing it there, its destination in her mind, a wordless command that would carry her to the trapped dreamer. Finding herself in the streets of an unknown city at twilight, she extinguished the consumptive fire and took stock of her surroundings.

The tops of the buildings faded into the daub sky, where she could see the one constant, never closer, never farther - the Black City. Or so the theories went. The hubbub of merchants trading in a foreign tongue caught her ears, and looking at her armour, Neria suddenly felt out of place in the sweltering street. An indefinable scent clung in their air, tannins and much she could not identify.

This fantasy was busier than any she had yet visited, and Neria studied the surroundings before seeing enough difference. The world moved in a gradient, gaining clarity and saturation down the alley in so subtle away that most may not have noticed.

The sweat on her brow almost tempted Neria to summon the burning once more, when she heard a familiar laughter ring through the door of the apartment she passed. Lingering by a window, she strained to hear anything through the simple linen curtain drawn across it.

The only indication of anything happening was the quick flap of cloth as the curtain was flung aside, and Neria found herself jerked into the room, pinned face first against the wall with the cold of silverite pressed to her neck.

" _Dovrei ucciderla_?"

Neria closed her eyes as the perfect edge nicked her skin, the dribbled of blood surprisingly real.

" _Lascilo vederlo_."

Spun in slender arms, Neria opened her eyes to see the assassin she knew completely nude and half-mast. Her skin flushed pink despite herself, and swallowing she felt the knife bite into her skin.

" _Non così duro_ ," Zevran chuckled, fingering his own dagger. With a flip of the wrist, the tip of the blade touched her cheek, and Neria's skin darkened. " _Chi ti ha trasmesso?"_ When no recognition flickered on her face, he repeated, "Who sent you?"

"You know me, Zevran," Neria whispered, and she could feel the breath of a subtle laugh on her elven ear.

Tapping the dagger against his lips, Zevran kept his eyes in hers without shame. Another droplet of blood ran down her neck before he admitted, "That I do... let her go."

" _Che cosa_?"

Zevran grabbed the wrist that was at Neria's throat, and the elven mage staggered out of reach, a quiet word on her lips as she touched a finger to the wound. A small wash of light closed it, leaving just the slick of blood.

"Thank you for this...even though..." Zevran's voice dropped away as he looked at the partially dressed woman he held close. Red hair framed her delicate features, and the hurt in her expression was unmistakable. " _Per sempre_..."

"No - no you can't," the woman struggled, and Zevran's expression contorted as she broke free, her voice multifaceted and octaves deeper, "You cannot take him!"  
Zevran knocked the incoming dragger, free arm raised to catch the woman by the neck and pin her against the wall as he drove his blade deep in her belly. He was oblivious to the lesser desire demons that melted from the walls, the city dissolving around them as Neria fought them off.

The woman choked, her breath gurgled, and Zevran whispered, " _Mi dispiace, piu volte_."

Soon, her body was gone too, and they were left standing in the raw, abstract landscape of the Fade.

"We have to get out of here," Neria said.

"Yes. I know..." Zevran kept his eyes down, though as his form started to come apart he looked to her, his next words lost in his ethereal transition.

In her core she could feel the hierarchy collapsing, recoiling to remote safety in reaction to all she had done. Burying the curiosity that wished to surface, Neria watched the spot where Zevran had been, before her head fell back and she burst into flames.

 _Apathy, I come for you._

* * *

The first few blinks didn't suffice to convince Neria that she was in the Tower of Magi once more. The stone walls were caked with sinew, fleshy sacs and contortions, rendered almost unrecognizable from the chamber it once was. The ache of immobility cramped her limbs as she moved, her mouth dry and thick. She sat up as she heard the waking murmurs of her companions nearby.

"Are we awake now?"

"Yes, Alistair," Wynne sighed as she leant heavily on her staff to get up.

Zevran flopped his arm over his eyes, grimacing as he rolled sideways and pushed himself up.

Neria's eyes focused at the memory of her departure from the Fade, and saw the emaciated, cold corpse of Niall nearby. On all fours in her weakened state, she crawled to retrieve the litany of Adralla from his body, the lyrium imbued scroll pinned in his grasp.

"Come, we do not know how much time has passed," Wynne rested her hand on Neria's shoulder, and the elf nodded, looking at the sunken face of the man on the ground.

The gruesome decor led out through the halls, and moving in silence, the quiet was broken by a roar that vibrated off the stone. Neria cringed, squeezing her staff tighter as she looked for the source. Fire caught along the fleshy ligatures and muscles that caked the walls, and she stepped back, covering her mouth as the stench filled the air.

The drake followed on heavy steps, and Neria fell back with Wynne as the men engaged the beast. In the confined space, its size was to their advantage, as the beast was unable to manoeuvre to follow its attackers as they sliced into its hide. The dragonlings that followed it squeaked and shrieked as they were frozen and battered, and soon the ground was covered in the mythical creature's thick blood.

"And they say dragons are extinct - but yet, we seem quite able to attract

them in droves." Alistair murmured.

Neria had no words, feeling the blood trickle down amidst her armour, cloying her skin to the cold metal. She walked with her staff through the grisly remnants, knowing they were at the pinnacle of the tower - that they would no doubt find Uldred and his machinations in the Harrowing chamber.

She was not prepared for what they found at the bottom of the stairs, trapped in a foreign magical barrier.

"Agh, not this trick again - no, no I will not falter, I will be strong!" Dropping to his knees, the templar clasped his hands, rocking in feverent prayer as Neria touched the field, eyes upon him.

"Cullen... you're alive." She could feel the repulsion in the field, and it sent a twitching shock through her arm. Neria pulled her hand back, ashen face looking down at the templar. He didn't look up. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Only too well... that they delve so deep to bring you..."

"I've never seen a cage like this," Wynne whispered, sapped of expression. "He's exhausted and starved, no doubt...We're here to help you."

"Enough! Stop this game," Cullen's voice strained as he cringed lower in his prayers, "If anything is human, kill me... I will not submit...y-you will not break me like you broke them.

"Plying my thoughts... tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have... using my shame, my ill-advised infatuation with her - a mage of all things..."  
Neria's face slackened, her hands dropping as she looked at the templar, "Cullen..."

"I cannot stand these cruel jokes... these tricks anymore, these..." The knelt templar broke down into half sobs, wracked with fatigue.

"My, my, it seems our Warden was quite the heart-breaker in the Tower, mm?"

"Stop it!" Neria trembled, refusing to look at Zevran. She sunk down to one knee, only a few feet from the trapped templar. That all the rest had suffered, that so many had died, but to see him like this... "Cullen, I swear this is no trick... I'm here to help."

"Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say! Now begone!"

Bolting up, Neria stepped back, her eyes glistening as he stared her down, grimacing with anger she had never seen. The rage faded and left uncertain abandon, and the templar's shoulders sagged.

"You're still here... I close my eyes but you are still here when I open them..."

His voice was strained, eyes sunken as he looked down to her. "It always worked before..."

"I came to stop Uldred."

"Good," Cullen's face flickered with the uncontained emotions, "Then kill them - kill them all for what they've done! You were not here, you cannot know! They trapped us like animals, tried to break us..."

"I have to save whoever I can."

The templar stepped closer to the barrier, glaring at her as he said, "Then you are just one of them - who knows which are blood mages, or - or what other atrocities they might commit! They cannot be trusted! You can only know if they are all dead."

Neria clasped a hand over her mouth, his words driving a spike through her heart. That she had fancied this once diffident man, his smiles and kindness lost. He said he was not broken, but what had he become instead? She shook her head, unable to mask the hurt, "No... no I'll save any I can. They are mages like me, they deserve the chance to -"

"You have not seen what they did!" Cullen snapped, and his face contorted, "You may as well be one of them. How can I know you are not possessed or a blood mage yourself?"

"Don't be foolish, boy," Wynne snapped, before more quietly saying, "We must go, who knows what Uldred is doing."

"Fine. Go." The templar knelt back down, hands together as he afforded Neria no second glance, "But let the consequences be on your conscience."

Tearing away, Neria ascended the final steps with her companions, fingers tightening on the rolled litany.

* * *

They were given quarters in the guest wing of the Tower that inhabited part of the first floor, and had been untouched. The templars had been using it as a base of operations while the doors were sealed, but with the First Enchanter back at the Knight-Commander's throat, the room had emptied. They were tending their wounds, as magic would only heal so much, and were planning to sleep soon.

Holding the poultice against the deep bruise along her breast, Neria closed her eyes, thankful for the modicum of privacy the partitioning screen offered. With care she bound the linens to hold it snugly to her body and support her feminine curves. She pulled on some apprentice robes, all she had until she could clean her armour and linens.

"Hey," Alistair poked his head about the screen, and Neria spun, finishing tying the sash on her robe as he joined her. His cheeks flushed, "Oh-h I...ehm.."

Neria looked down, turning away again as she blushed and adjusted the odd tie and the neckline of her robes, "Yes?"

"I just didn't think you should be alone."

Closing her eyes, Neria's head sunk further, chin to her chest, and she smoothed her hands down her abdomen. It was a moment before she could steady her voice, "That's very kind of you, Alistair."

Alistair ran a hand around his neck, his right arm heavily bandaged.

"How is your arm?"

"Oh this?" he tried to move it, cringing even as he went, "Just fine, really, Wynne spent some time on it. Just have to give it a few days."

Neria nodded and sat back down on the small bed, gaze in her lap as she fiddled with a charm. Cullen had bombarded into her discussion with the Knight-Commander, expressing his displeasure at allowing the mages to live without hesitation. What she wouldn't have given for being able to feel the same strength she had in the Fade - to burst into flames, be consumed by the fire, and channel it to face him.

But what could she say? All his words had blotted something out and left darkness behind. How could he have said those things? She wanted to think it was lyrium withdrawal, but he would have had his dose the moment they came down. They would have given it to him without thinking

Hawing to himself as he watched the elf, Alsitair finally sat beside her on the bed, and Neria's hand closed over the crystal she toyed with.

"I suppose I... wanted to say I know what it's like. Losing so many of the people you care for."

Bile in her throat, Neria furrowed her brow, "Do you? Do you." Alistair made to speak but her voice grew icy, "So pretty much everyone you grew up with was slaughtered or became some Maker damned abomination? And you got to go see them all? Bloodied, dead, mutilated, and cold?"

Jaw dropping, Alistair shook his head, "I... no, I..."

"You had to sift through their bodies, hoping one of them might be alive?" The hard edge in Neria's voice wavered, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her eyes dry, "And those you did find alive had become that which you feared most? That it could have been you?"

Neria was on her feet at Alistair's stunned silence, trembling as she said, "I thought not... I... I need some air."

Sweeping through the hall, Neria avoided the eyes of the templars and mages that were helping with damage control. The luxury of being able to stride past them all and push out the front doors of the Tower was not lost on her. It was the middle of the night - she had not realized the time of day. Did she even know what day it was?

It wasn't far to the shore, and Neria followed it, hugging herself as she reigned in her breathing. She had turned away from this place, why did it hurt so much? This wasn't her home any more. She walked until the shore became too steep, sweeping up into the cliffs that guarded the rear of the Tower. A cold wind blew off the lake, and she closed her eyes, savouring it.

"Needed to escape the cage and come find me?"

Neria turned her back to the lake and saw Zevran emerge from the shadows. Sighing, she ran a hand into her hair and looked back to the waves. The Antivan chuckled and came to her side, arms crossed in a mirror of her stance.

"We have been trapped in a nightmare for two days," Zevran mused, "It seemed visiting the night air would revive best, yes?"

Eyes steadily down, Neria said, "Something like that."

Cavalier as ever, Zevran tilted his head towards her after the silence had stretched beyond comfortable, "So, did you enjoy what you saw?"

"I came outside to be alone."

"I see," Zevran replied, stealing a glance of her. The elf turned to go, but he stopped when Neria spoke.

"Who was she?"

Faltering only a moment, Zevran chuckled before saying, "No one of consequence, I assure you. Demons play odd games with the mind."

Hand creeping up her shoulder, Neria rested her chin on her wrist, hugging herself and watching the waters of Lake Calenhad lap against the smooth rocks. Looking over her shoulder, there was no sign that Zevran had been there. She could only see the templar on watch some yards off. There was no doubt his eyes were on her.

Neria wasn't dressed to sustain the winter night as it grew colder. But cold had always been a comfort for her. It numbed, it forced the thoughts into the body – into survival to stay warm. It was clean, pure, and crisp, chasing away illness and nausea, leaving tingling and trembles. It confirmed solitude.

Her cheeks were starting to hurt from the wind when she noticed it wasn't an armour-clad templar nearby anymore. Wasn't he always insisting he wasn't? He was just trying to be nice... and she'd snapped at him.

Debating to wave him over, Ualan bounded up and buffeted her legs, almost bringing a grin. She heard Alistair mutter as he tripped in the moonlit night, and soon he was by her.

"I waited – was waiting, I mean... but I wasn't sure how long you were going to stay out here, and I..." he stopped fidgeting.

"I'm glad you did," Neria said quietly, hand down to give the mabari a rough pat. "I am sorry for what I said. It was callous."

"We've been through a lot – especially the last few days."

"I do not think it is an excuse," Neria turned towards him, needing to look up from her elven height, "You have lost too."

Swallowing his dubious expression, Alistair shrugged an arm, "I... I thought you'd be getting cold." Fanning out a cloak, he wrapped it around her, adjusting it on her shoulders.

Touching his hand, Neria said, "You're such a gentleman."

"I don't know about that," Alsitair chuckled, eyes on their hands. His drifted to wrap around each of hers, dwarfing them in his grasp. "You're freezing."

Trying not to shiver at his acknowledgement, Neria kept his gaze, softly saying, "I-I wouldn't say freezing... you know I can handle cold well enough."

Alistair grinned, "That may be, but it's usually the darkspawn that are shivering, not you." He leaned closer, and Neria's wind chapped cheeks reddened further.

"I am not shivering," she whispered.

"Of course not, my lady."

Mouthing a silent word, Neria half-closed her eyes as he moved closer. Rising on the balls of her feet, she met his lips in an awkward mush. They were warm, and Alistair tugged one of her hands closer. Inexorably drawn, Neria stepped on his foot and their kiss broke. Blushing darkly, she pulled back and mumbled an apology.

"Hmm?" Alistair opened his eyes, a light colour on his own cheeks, "Was... was that too much?"

"No – no... I ... stepped on your foot..."

"Did you?"

"Yes," Neria tried to suppress a grin.

Alistair's expression matched her own, "Suppose I missed it, ehm." He kissed her again, releasing one of her hands that he might touch her cheek, and their lips parted as he murmured, "You _are_ freezing."

Neria shook her head, letting her cheek rest more fully into his palm as she replied, "You're helping... with a lot of things."

Their noses touching, it was a moment before Alistair said, "I would help you with anything, Neria, if I can."

Neria's mouth parted, but she held her words and merely leant into him again, free hand clasping his neck to bring his lips back to hers. Lingering kisses kept them close as her fingers mussed the back of his hair. Cheeks blushed, she pulled back as they each sucked in a deep breath.

Ualan circled from where he'd been sitting watch, ruffing quietly as he looked up at the pair. They both looked at the dog with a bashful grin as he sank and rest his chin on his paws.

Neria chuckled quietly before saying, "Well, there are beds waiting for us..."

Alistair blushed to the tips of his ears as he squeaked, "What?"

"It... just seems like we should not miss the simple treat of sleeping in a bed. Better than the cold ground, you know?"

"Of course," Alistair coughed and cleared his throat as he squeezed her hand before letting go, "Must enjoy the um, simple comforts."

Oblivious, Neria kissed his cheek and turned towards the tower. Ualan hoisted his head from the lake, tongue slopping out as water dripped from his chin. The dog stared at Alistair.

"What?"

The mabari huffed and trotted after Neria, and Alistair shook his head with a hint of a smile as he followed too.


	16. Snow and Mongrels

After gaining First Enchanter Irving's formal promise of the Circle's commitment to the Blight, they returned to Calenhad's docks with the Tranquil envoy. Though Neria didn't say it, it was obvious that the neutralized mage made her uneasy.

The Tranquil followed Wynne as they disembarked, the two idly chatting as they made it on shore. Neria lingered, watching the man go, and Alistair hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I just do not see the point," Neria murmured. Turning, she looked at the Circle Tower before striding up the dock. "We saw Tranquil become abominations," she strained at the memory, "What is the use of destroying a person if it doesn't protect them?"

Alistair was about to speak when Zevran walked by, and Ualan barked at the elven assassin.

"What is it, mutt?"

"Hey..." Neria almost pouted.

"What? He likes it," Ualan barked as if to reinforce it. "It is endearing." Zevran handed Ualan something that was quickly gobbled, and the pair led the way off the dock.

"I'll have to remember that next time Morrigan calls me something like that," Alistair idly said.

Neria was silent as they tracked to where the witch and qunari had made camp. The sun was surprisingly warm, and unsurprisingly, neither Morrigan nor Sten were overly enthusiastic about their return from the Circle or Wynne joining them.

"How nice of you to bring such friends back with you," Morrigan said under her breath, following with a sigh as Neria's blade slipped and tore the intestines of the rabbit she was gutting. "Will you ever learn? Tis contaminated now. Give me the others."

"Wynne is a better healer than I am. She knows a great deal."

"I suppose she will drone on about the virtues of the Circle?"

Neria stabbed her knife into the soil, "Morrigan, you have no idea what happened while we were..." The mage shuddered and she clenched her jaw before saying, "If you do not wish to stay with us, Morrigan, I will not force you to be here."

"As I recall, twas you who nearly fell over yourself to thank mother for her offer to send me with you." Morrigan took the butchered rabbit and called, "Mongrel!"

Throwing the vermin few paces away, Ualan pranced to retrieve it. Kneeling down, she said, "Tis a surprise Alistair did not come running. Now pay attention." Reiterating the finer points of cleaning a rabbit, it was strictly business before the witch sighed and said, "That aside, we will have to hunt more, for tis scarce enough for the behemoth and I, let alone all of you."

"I will ask Leiliana..." Neria got up, snagging her blade from the grass as she slunk away. She had not had time to give Morrigan the grimoire she'd all but stolen from the First Enchanter's quarters. Somehow, the technicality that Zevran had actually stolen it did not make her feel better.

The bard put down her writing and happily agreed to track a deer for their meal. Overhearing the chatter, one of the Dalish envoys offered to help her, and the pair set out over the hill.

* * *

Her skin crept with an unnatural chill – it was not death, merely the absence of life. And it crawled, black and firm, to consume what was left of her, ravenous and mindless. Staggered steps drove her feet, a magnetic draw pulling servants to the cause.

They slept, they would not scream so easily, and then their flesh would run and be a feast. She screamed in triumph, a voice not her own as she raised an axe and broke into a run. Each grunt joined the chorus. The tents were torn and the horses reared as brethren cut into their flesh. More screams joined, shrill and singsong beauty that made her growl deep.

There was a woman, she could smell it – and then she saw the faces of the band, grisly, lipless, and tainted. There was a greater need in her chest than hunger, something indefinable. But she no longer wished any of it. Trapped once more, eyes became windows as they slaughtered the men without mercy.

Neria shuddered and woke, breath choking in her throat. Eyes still closed, she reached for her cloak, only to have a large tongue mop her cheek. It was dark in the tent, and the tremble barely faded as she clung to the mabari's throat. Ualan grumbled with concern. Frozen rain pelted the tent. She had thought taking the westward side of the lake might spare them inclement weather, but nature was proving otherwise.

The fire was close to sputtering out as Neria ducked out of her tent, and the clothing she'd bundled in scarce stopped the wind that hit her. The small ice pellets hurt her cheeks, and she unravelled some of the cloth over her head to cover her face.

"Go warm up," Neria called to Leiliana over the elements.

"You do not need to tell me twice," the woman hurried off into the tent Neria had come from. Only Morrigan's stood apart from the cluster.

Alsitair was hunched close to the fire, and as she shivered, Neria fuelled the fire higher. Small piles of ice pellets were pooling in his cloak, and she stooped to brush them off before sitting next to him.

"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was muffled by the scarf that covered up to his nose.

Neria shook her head, tucking her hands under her arms as she said, "Dreams..."

Alistair nodded, stamping his feet to try and will the blood through his numbed toes. "Come here," he murmured and flapped the edge of his cloak. Scooting over, Neria tucked under his arm and he sighed, "I knew you'd be warmer."

Neria's eyes smiled, her mouth hidden, and the cloth covering it froze as the weather worsened. The night was brighter under the heavy snow that fell, and she did her best to keep the fire going. The flakes sizzled on the logs, the embers flashing orange to black as they cooled.

With the snow, the surrounding hills became muted with silence, and it accumulated around them and the tents. Alistair kept shaking the heavy snow from his cloak.

"I cannot feel my ears."

"Me neither," Alistair murmured, his fingers plying over her shoulder as he pulled her closer. He kissed her cheek and caught her ear with her nose, "Still there it seems."

Neria squirmed and couldn't help but grin, no matter how cold she was. Her breath came out in a great puff as she shook the cloth from her face and asked, "What is Redcliffe like?"

Arm falling around her waist, Alistair cradled Neria, cherishing her proximity as much as her warmth, "Ah well... I haven't been there in a long time..."

"Could it have changed so much?"

"Maybe," Alistair mused, shivering and giving her a squeeze, "I wasn't ever sure when I would go back. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"How long do you think it'll take to get there?"

"In this weather?" Alsitair sighed, eyes over the accumulating snow, "A few days. This won't be easy to travel through."

Neria pulled her knees up, cupping her hands to her mouth to warm them. She wiggled her feet, bricks in her boots despite the fire.

"In winter we'd go sledding on the hills. Especially after a snow like this. Bann Teagan – the arl's younger brother – would come to Redcliffe for First Day and take us if there was." Alistair chuckled, "The arl was always so serious, married to an Orlesian. She wasn't too fond of me..."

Cheek resting on her wrapped hands, Neria smiled at him, "Who wouldn't like you?"

"I was a brat," Alistair laughed self-consciously, "and she is a very prim and proper lady. She... well, she was the main reason I was sent to the Chantry. Even if Eamon assured her otherwise, she worried that I was his illegitimate son..."

Ualan huffed as he leapt out of the tent, galloping away before he rounded about. Neria peered at the dog, but he maintained his alarmed innocence. Cupping together a handful of snow, she threw it at him. The mabari cocked his ears as it fell short, and Neria muttered.

Grinning, Alistair packed some snow together and tossed it up. Tensing, Ualan leapt after it and snapped the snowball in his mouth, munching on it and looking quite pleased. He threw another farther, and the hound tripped through the snow to snatch it out of the air.

"You certainly know what you're doing."

"Ah yes," Alistair said, leaning close to Neria, "Throwing snowballs for dogs was an integral part of my upbringing." He threw another and Ualan trounced after it, before a handful of snow smacked him in the face. "Hey!"

Neria barely escaped his grasp, and Alistair cupped a fistful of snow, the wet flakes easily compacting together.

"Ualan," she whispered and beckoned for the dog, not ducking in time to avoid the snowball. It splattered over her back and drew an 'oof'. Getting excitable, the mabari barked and Neria hurriedly shushed him, only to get hit with another snowball. "No fair!"

Whispering another command to Ualan, the mabari launched towards Alistair, and the man yelped as the hound toppled him.

"Yes, and this – mph!" The dog slopped Alistair's face with a number of licks, pinning him down, " – completely fair. Thank you, how did you know I needed a bath?"

Ualan quietly wuffed and lay on top of him as Neria plunked down in the snow beside him, grinning. "I win."

"I don't know, I think he wins..." The mabari panted a grin, scrambling off Alistair to go chase something in the shadows. "Oof."

Neria's eyes sparkled and she brushed the clumps of snow off Alistair's chest. He caught her hand and pulled her in for a kiss, their cold lips meeting. She breathed in sharply through her nose, and could feel him smile. He tucked a few strands of hair that had fallen out back under the warmth of her hood as she drew back.

"Maybe insomnia's not so bad," he whispered.

* * *

The snow hampered their progress and left them in poor spirits as they walked the road to Redcliffe. The white-capped Frostbacks loomed, a distant destination that Neria looked at with awe and trepidation. Traversing the mountains was not something she looked forward to, and she was glad to leave it for the time as they concentrated on helping the arl.

Alistair grew more agitated as they gained on the village, lingering back as they walked. Slowing to keep pace with him, Neria inclined her head to him.

"What is eating you?"

In the distance they could see the ramparts of Redcliff castle rise above the morning mists. They expected to reach the town before noon.

"So I've been thinking, since we're going to Redcliffe and all, that it's probably time I told you I was a bastard." Alistair kept his eyes on the road ahead as they walked.

Neria tried not to grin as she said, "You said something to that effect. Or was it Morrigan?" She laughed when he scowled, " And I plan to keep my promise - we'll visit your sister next time we're in Denerim."

"Yes, I told you my mother was a serving girl in the castle... But I didn't mention my father," Alistair fidgeted with the open front of his cloak, looking skyward as the snow crunched underfoot, "Maric had an indiscretion with a serving girl. I'm his bastard... King Maric's son..."  
Stopping in her tracks, Neria's mouth dropped open as she stared at Alistair, and he turned when he realized. "Are you joking?"

"Believe me, I wish I were," Alistair sighed, almost rolling his eyes as they started walking again, their slow pace causing them to fall farther behind, "I know I should have told you sooner. I just... people have always treated me different when they found out. In the village - even in the Chantry."

"That's understandable, Alistair..."

"I don't think it is - I didn't ask to be born the king's bastard."

"I know," she said more quietly, looking at her feet and resting her hands on the straps of her pack. It took her a moment to swallow it before she asked, "So does this mean you're going to be king?"

Alistair waved his hands and shook his head, "Maker, no, I hope not! I don't want anything like that. Can you imagine me as king? I'd make a terrible king!"

Neria took a deep breath, her expression lightening as she snuck a look at him. A blush rose on his cheeks, and he shook his head again.

"Look, can we just forget I said anything about it and go on pretending I'm some nobody?"

Dipping in genuflection, Neria inclined her head and said, "Of course, my prince."

"Agh. I knew I was going to regret this."

Alistair strode faster to catch up with their group, leaving Neria grinning behind everyone. Though there was a smile on her lips, something sickened her stomach.

* * *

Neria had already spent more than a half hour alone sweet talking a drunken blacksmith, she'd been spat on in the tavern for being an elven woman trying to rouse extra militia, and the last thread of her patience frayed talking a young boy out of his parent's locked wardrobe. When there came no answer at the dwarven fighter's residence, it didn't take much for her to consider kicking the door in.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Alistair furrowed his brow.  
Flexing her shoulders back, Neria seethed as she closed her eyes to concentrate, "I'm going to break down the door."  
"Oh, this I must see," Zevran grinned, stepping back and crossing his arms.

"Um, are you sure that's..."

Throwing her shoulder into the door, Neria's armour dug into her and the force vibrated down her arm. Her legs almost gave out as she stumbled back and cursed, "Maker's balls..."

Zevran snickered, and Morrigan shook her head, a rare smile on her lips as she murmured, "That was worth rising this morning. Did you think, perhaps, to use magic?"

Neria muttered, a ripple of energy across her limbs as a massive stone formed in the air. Chips flaking off, she gave a flick of her wrist and it barrelled into the door, busting the lock and flinging it open.

Dwyn was about as happy to see Neria as she was to meet him. Heated words were exchanged, but their stances relaxed as a compromise was reached. The tension scarce lifted as they debated the necessity of his joining the defence of Redcliffe that evening, and the elven mage bridged a hand over her brow as she whispered a wash of healing through her to alleviate the throb of her temples.

"50 silver, and no more."

Grumbling, Dwyn nodded and said, "Fine. Men, get your gear."

"What? Do we have to go out there?"  
"Yes, because I told you to."

At the dismissal, Neria walked along the docks back to the village square. Alistair broke off to help a few men erect a barricade about the Chantry, and Zevran came up to her side.

"So, our friend is a bastard prince."

"You heard?"

"We all heard, Warden."

"Oh..." Neria hesitated a few paces from the Chantry steps, eyes skyward. "I do not know what to think of it."

"Ferelden royalty is a curious thing – in Antiva..."

"Maker, he is royalty, isn't he..."

As Zevran deigned reply, the mayor of the village, Murdock, approached Neria. It was clear he was uncomfortable with any sort of deference to her.

"They'll be supper in the Chantry, shortly. The bann asked that you attend him."

"Dwyn is coming to fight."

"That's a blessing to hear," Murdock nodded, hand over his beard as he nodded and headed into the church.

Neria sighed, "Where's Morrigan?"

"Perhaps she fled at word of the Maker's house?"

Inside, Bann Teagan invited them into private quarters for a meal as the warm hues of late afternoon seeped over the town.

"There is yet an hour until sunset," Teagan reassured Neria when she expressed her concern. Breaking bread to soak, he inquired about her life as a mage and the armour she wore, as well as what they had accomplished so far for the war.

"I have no doubt your talents will be a great asset tonight."

"That is kind of you to say, my lord."

"Please," he smiled despite his fatigue, "There is no need to stand on formalities."

Neria bowed her head, a light colour on her cheeks, "If you wish." Wynne was at the door a moment later, and the elven mage indelicately ate the rest of her meal before saying, "If you'll excuse me, we are going to lay wards to help protect the Chantry."

"Thank you, Neria. Maker bless you."

Left with Alistair, Zevran, and Leiliana, the bann had a strained smile. The elf had finished his meal and smelt his goblet of wine with a grimace.

"Would I be right to place your accent as Antivan?"

"Indeed you would," Zevran refrained from drinking, crossing a leg as he leant back in his chair.

"How did you find yourself in Ferelden – in the company of our Grey Wardens, no less?"

Chuckling, Zevran ignored the look Alistair gave him before saying, "A job, per say."

"Oh? That seems peculiar."

"More than you know," Alistair murmured over his cup before finishing it.

"The teryn hired me to kill our good Wardens – I was a Crow, you see." Zevran pushed back from the table, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, "If you'll excuse me."

Bann Teagan looked at Alistair as the assassin left, and the young man merely said, "Don't look at me. It was her idea."

The bann's expression relaxed, as did Leiliana's as he said, "She seems a woman that most could not refuse."

"More than you know, good ser," the bard chimed, her smile unfaltering as Alistair peered at her.


	17. Conner

"Was it me, or did that woman's voice grate like no other?"

"Let's just say I didn't miss it when I was sent to the abbey."

Their voices echoed off the stone of the dungeon, despite whispering. They had survived the night slaughtering skeletons and ghouls that assaulted the village. Only spared a few hours sleep in the morning, they were met by the Arlessa Isolde on their way to the catacomb entrance to Redcliffe Castle. After handing off his signet ring to Neria, Bann Teagan returned with the impudent Orlesian.

But of course it was the elf who was the insolent one. The fault in Isolde's expression when she learnt Neria was also a mage had not been missed.

"The arlessa was hiding something," Neria murmured, motioning her spellwisp higher as they stepped out of the damp stairwell.

"Exquisite shoes – entirely not meant for how she was running, though," Leiliana almost blushed as Alistair and Neria stared at her. "What? They were."

"No, no! Get back!"

A voice echoed through the cells, and Neria froze. Her companions launched to action against the trio of ghouls that were battering the last cell, and it was only as two were slain that Neria drew her sword and decapitated the skeleton.

The tip of her sword hit the ground as she looked in the cell.

"Thank the Maker, I... no... is – is that really you?"

She felt ill. His robes and face were dirty, cheeks gaunt and hair mussy. Didn't he always look like that when they were younger? They'd made a terrible mess – he'd only been in the Tower a month or two, and... and he'd been very upset about being brought there. He said she was funny – that it wasn't so bad with her around to bug.

Alistair furrowed his brow.

"Jowan," she whispered. Why – why was he of all the people here?

Did the world delight in torturing her so? "What are you doing here?"

"No...no nevermind that – how could you betray me!"

Grip tightening, Neria stabbed the sword into her scabbard and stepped up to the bars, "How could I betray you? You were a blood mage, Jowan! What did you expect me to do?" Neria trembled and put the back of her hand to her lips as Alistair snagged her arm. She shook her head, "You did something terrible, and worst of all you lied to me."

"A blood mage," Leiliana frowned, "Are you the cause of all this?"

Jowan waved his hands, "Maker no! I don't even know what's going on, I've been locked down here." The fight bled from his voice, "I swear... I don't know what's happening."

"But you're here for a reason," Neria crossed her arms, sniffing in sharply.

"I came to the castle at Lady Isolde's request to train the arl's son."

"What? Conner's a mage?"

Jowan sighed and looked at Alistair, "He had started to show signs. The arlessa was worried they would take him away..."

"Mages cannot own land or hold titles," Neria added, lips pursed in a dubious line.

"Hence finding a mage outside of the Circle. That and..." Jowan dropped back, his brow knit, "I was sent to poison Arl Eamon."

"No..."

"What!" Alistair was against the bars beside Neria, "That's why he's ill?"

"Teryn Loghain said he would smooth things over with the Circle – and that the arl was a threat to Ferelden! I..." Jowan looked at Neria and his hands dropped, "I am tired of lying. I just... seem to keep making things worse... I feel terrible."

Neria's chin dropped as she closed her eyes. She could hear his voice echo in her thoughts – sarcastic troublemaker that he was, never good as her, but never harmed by her temper and anti-social disposition. Brushing her long white hair and tangling the brush – isn't that what he said? Just making things worse? And she'd laughed.

"What happened to Lily?"

Face a mask, Neria whispered, "They said she was going to be sent to Aeonar. I... I left the Tower the day a-after you."

"You escaped?"

"No... I'm a Grey Warden now." Neria turned away, "Come on."

"Wh-what? You're just going to leave me here?"

"Would you rather come fight the undead swarming the castle?"

"I..." Jowan dropped back, "No... I wouldn't know what to do. You're right, you always were." His voice emptied out, "I deserve to stay here for all I've done."

Neria closed her eyes, trying to reign in her breath as she looked at the floor.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Is there anything y-you can tell us about what's happened?" Her voice wavered, "How much have you taught the boy?"

"Some minor spells, nothing powerful... he was still adjusting."

"Could he be an abomination?"

"It...it's possible..."

"Maker..." Alistair sighed and looked down.

Eyes closed, Neria sorted their options before she said, "I'm sorry too, Jowan..."

* * *

Neria got out of the boat on rubber legs, extending a hand back to the First Enchanter to help him out as well.

"I am too old for this," Irving sighed.

"Then what's my excuse, ser?" Neria quietly said, weakly grinning as they walked down the dock. Alistair, Ualan, and the other two Circle mages followed on their heels, and the sky overhead was staggered with clouds.

She had tried to sleep as they sailed up the lake and back, but Neria spent most of the trip ill. Chewing on some mint, she lay in the hull with her mabari whimpering at her side and somehow kept the contents of her stomach down – she did wonder if she'd have felt better if she'd been rid of it though. A day each way by water, there were deep circles under the mage's eyes as they walked slowly through the village. Once more, Irving went over the steps of the ritual they would complete that would allow her to enter the Fade.

"It will be quite similar to your Harrowing in many respects. It is draining, but it should not be a challenge for you." The First Enchanter used his staff to aide his steps up the hill, the castle looming close. "You must destroy the demon. Do not speak with it – most likely, it will try to bargain for its freedom. But remember it is focused on its lusts for our world, for ways to escape theirs and experience ours."

"What happened in the Tower is my reminder, First Enchanter."

"Of course, child," Irving frowned, and they fell into silence at the memories.

Once at the castle, the receiving chamber was cleared of all guards, though Teagan and Isolde insisted on remaining. Jowan stood along the wall with his arms crossed, an extra conjurer if needed. His presence was tolerated by the Circle mages.

"I would prefer to stay as well," Alistair said, and Ualan woofed at his side. He put a hand on the mabari's head.

Irving sighed, hesitating in his preparations as the other enchanters continued, "I doubt there is much I may say to dissuade you. At least you know what to expect, through your training, but... Bann Teagan, it truly would be best that you and the arlessa leave."

"This is my son, I will not –"

"It is for your own safety you not be here, my lady."

"Come, Isolde... let us ensure Conner does not try to interfere." The bann led her away by the elbow, and she spat a few words in hushed Orlesian as they left, to which Teagan replied with equal calm.

Wynne completed the last ward on the floor, and it hovered glowing pink on the floor. One of the other enchanters said something to which she agreed before coming to Neria's side.

"Are you ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Neria closed her eyes and exhaled out her nose. She was in her Tevinter robes, and put a hand on her stomach to try and calm the fluttering. "I had hoped to not be returning awake to the Fade so quickly."

"So young, and already pursuing yet another demon," the elder mage grinned, "It seems as drawn to you as you to it. You might make a name for yourself amongst the hierarchies."

"What?"

"I am merely joking, my dear." Wynne gave her a light kiss on the cheek, squeezing her arm. "Be strong and we will guide you back from your lonely walk."

Neria forced a smile, breathing in deeply through her nose as she set aside many of her things. An enchanted item could interfere with the conduit that would project her through the Veil.

"Good luck," Alistair said, the crease of worry remaining on his brow as it had since they'd learnt Conner was a mage. "I'll be here when you... wake? Is that right?"

"Very close to it," Neria said, looking to him briefly. Licking her lips, she didn't meet his eyes as she said, "No matter what happens, you cannot interfere or interact with myself or any of the mages. Do you understand?"

"Of course," he whispered, and he looked at Ualan.

"It may be some time before I wake. It is a mentally exhausting ordeal, and... I am already physically drained."

"I wish we had more time, so you could be better prepared."

"As do I," she admitted, "But the sooner I go, the safer the castle will be. If I can save him from becoming an abomination..." Her throat closed and she looked back down.

"Yes," Alistair agreed immediately, before adding, "See you soon?"

Neria smiled weakly before turning to the mages.

"Good luck, Neria," Jowan hurriedly said, his face creased as she raised a hand and strode amidst the enchanters.

The bowl of lyrium awaited her in the midst of the five mages, at the pinnacle of the ward. She felt a refreshing tide rise through her, and she gained confidence as her mind cleared.

"Ready, child?"

"Yes, First Enchanter."

The pentagon of mages raised their hands at Irving's order, and a soft-spoken word cascaded through them, a palpable tension rising in their air. When the last had spoke, an orb of light coalesced in each of their hands, a subtly glowing miasma clouding the space between them and where Neria stood.

Closing her eyes, Neria could feel it tendril through her limbs and snake its way into her mind. She forced her eyes wide, looking at the pool of lyrium held aloft in the broad bowl, and she took the chalice that sat deep in the viscous liquid and brought it to her lips. Each mouthful magnified the expansion of her thoughts, the lightning that their steady, domino of chants reinforced, and her throat burnt and froze as the essence soaked in.

Feeling the rhythm of her heart separate, Neria's eyes lit with the radiance of the lyrium, her hair suspended as though in a static cloud, glowing with a light all its own. She opened her hand, fingers splayed, and broke the surface of the lyrium pool, speaking the final word in the chain created to propel her across the Veil.

In that instance, there was a clap of sound, her body slumped to the ground, mind projected between realms. Alistair's grip tightened around Ualan's collar as the dog whimpered, and his own stomach lurched.

"It's alright. Tha..that's what's supposed to happen." Jowan had moved to Alistair's side, and spoke in a whisper. The ex-templar's expression didn't lighten as he watched Neria's immobile form.

The light at the mage's fingertips fizzled away, a steady glow connecting their hands as a waymarker, and the irradiated mist hung low about her body as the First Enchanter said, "Now we wait."

Much like her hand, Neria's consciousness plunged through a surface, and the edges of the Veil clung to her as she pushed, until finally it was left in her wake. Propelled through an immaterial void, a wind buffeted her back as she came to stand in the Fade, and she gasped for breath.

Conner.

The thought rang in her mind, and suddenly was there in the air, a man's voice she didn't recognize, calling and searching, echoing in impossible ways. Child's laughter and frightened replies overlapped, and across the ashen landscape, she saw the ghostly doppelgangers of the boy frolic, run, collapse, and move in every other way.

Her fatigue trapped in her physical form, Neria strode toward the presence she could sense over the hills, flowers scurrying from her footsteps. Imagine her surprise to meet a man old enough to be her father.

"Conner? Where is my boy, I can hear him – but I cannot find him..."

"Arl Eamon?"

The man regarded Neria with a wary eye, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I am Neria. And I am here to help you and your son..."

After a few brief encounters with the demon impersonating Conner, Neria was able to navigate through the shifting Fade to force it into a confrontation. Sultry and smooth, the desire demon sought to parlay with the mage, but its pleas fell on deaf ears.

"I will broker no deal. You and your ilk have already harmed enough innocent people!"

"Innocent." The demon smiled and plied a hand over its adorned breast, tinkling a bell with its movement, "From all I have seen, mortals are rarely innocent."

"For all your greed, are you any better?"

The demon swayed its hips before purring, "No, but my wants are reasonable. And I keep true to my deals."

Neria shook her head, tired of the word play, and opening her palms at her sides, uttered a short command to bring forth the memories, and her body erupted into flames. Casting her hand at the demon, an inferno burnt a swath about it.

"Impressive!" The fiend shrieked and laughed as the fire ignited along its legs. It purred, flicking its wrist and splitting into a dozen mirror images of itself.

The taunt only served to crackle Neria's burning skin brighter, the flames dancing in her eyes and intimately coiling her charred limbs. She had missed this, not knowing if it would await her here like it sometimes did when she was freed from her darkspawn visions and allowed to dream.

 _Burn._

It was her sole thought as she drew a sword, its blade glowing embers. Small flecks of flame followed her footsteps as she spun and cut through one of the spectres. The immaterial laughter was their again, and the desire demon's head dropped back, each permutation tickled with delight as Neria stepped to the next and swung, the fiery blows of her sword dispatching the ethers until it hit more solid resistance.

 _Burn._

Stabbing her sword in the ground, Neria could only growl through melted, charred lips that sealed her mouth, and the area around her ignited. The flames spat larger and burst in an explosion that threw her back off her feet. Knocked to the ground, she stared at the sky through heat-wavered air, unharmed by the surrounding inferno.

 _Burn._

Back on her feet, she saw the desire demon writhe in the lingering flames, its screech cutting through the crackle of fire. Neria snagged her sword once more, moving through the rehearsed motion with little finesse, and sliced through the demon.

A pang in her chest and the consequent shriek brought the relief that it had lost its hold. Its energy spent, the desire demon went lax, and its body evaporated into the very air. Neria's own fire dissipated as she diminished to become herself, sinking to her knees beside a nearby vein of lyrium.

Would she ever burn again?

The muted silence of the Fade lingered all around her, bland and unmolded. Lifting her eyes to the sky, the ever-present moon of the Black City hovered - the cause of the moral world's plight.

Grimacing, she cupped her hands around one of the lyrium crystals. Closing her eyes, she chanted quietly to herself, the phrase looping together in endless grace. She could feel the crystal eat at her skin, and breathing deep she smelt the lyrium on her breath, and the stone floor against her crumpled body.

The mages had been standing in concentration for two hours, their mantra a testament to their will, when suddenly the web linking them shattered. The croak of Neria's deep breath let them drop their arms, weakening to their knees as she was sucked back into her body.

Alistair stood up from where he ruffled Ualan's ear, tense as the static air faded, the mists collapsing to the ground like dust. The mages were pale, though not nearly as much as Neria. Looking to Wynne, the elderly woman lifted a hand to condone his movement.

"Stay," he said to Ualan before hurrying to kneel by Neria.

"She will not yet be awake. It could be as long as a day."

The younger enchanters moved to help the elder mages up, and they all moved with delicate care. Jowan unbarred the door, and immediately it flung open. Bann Teagan stepped in, relief on his tired features.

"You've done it - Conner, he seems alright, he..." Teagan stopped mid-stride as he saw Alistair picking Neria's limp form up.

"The mages need rooms to rest," Alistair said, "All of them."

"Yes, of course," Tegan moved to offer his arm to Wynne, who accepted it with a stiff step. "Come with me. I'll take you to the guest apartments upstairs. They were thankfully... spared."

* * *

"Are you alright, Wynne?"

"Oh yes, don't worry about me, young man. Not my first ritual to send a mage into the Fade," the mage chuckled and patted Alistair's arm, before pressing the deep bottle of lyrium into his grasp.

"I - I never actually became a Templar, you know that, right?"

Wynne's eyes creased as she smiled and said, "It's for Neria when she wakes."

"Oh..."

"Do not let her drink it all at once - she may try to."

Alistair swallowed thickly as he rolled the cold bottle in his hand, "Will it help?"

Sighing, Wynne clasped her hands together, "Moreso it will help her come down. Entering the Fade requires imbibing a great deal of lyrium, as you saw, and she will be going through acute withdrawal, considering how long she has been unconscious."

Alistair furrowed his brow and nodded. Neria had not woken in the hours since they had completed the ritual. The First Enchanter had assured him of her health, and confirmed that for all intensive purposes, it seemed she had defeated the demon possessing Conner.

"She will need to avoid it for a week or two beyond that, lest it become a more permanent dependency."

"I can't believe she did this for Conner..."

"Well," Wynne reassured him, "She knows the dangers of the ritual and of lyrium. She is bright."

They both looked to where the elven mage lay, her face serene in a seemingly dreamless sleep. A servant snuck in the room to check the lamps, and Wynne shooed the elf, keeping them burning with a touch of her own magic.

"She'll be alright?"

"Of course she will be," Wynne chuckled, "She needs rest. As do I."

"Oh-h, I - I'm sorry," Alistair cringed, looking at her, "Don't let me keep you."

Wynne patted the man's arm again, grinning at the mabari whose expression mirrored the same apprehension. "You rest too."

Alistair nodded absently and sighed as he sunk into the chair again, fingering through the book he'd pulled off the shelf. It was the Ballad of Ayesleigh, said to have been written after the end of the Fourth Blight. He had read it before, many years previous.

"There's something to dream of, ey?"

Ualan grumbled and sunk onto the floor between Alistair and the bed where his mistress lay, ears flattened as he waited.

Waking as the book in his hand plunked on the ground, Alistair smacked his lips, mouth dry from hanging open in sleep. Trying to sit up properly in the chair, he looked and saw Neria had scarce moved on the bed.

"Anything?"

Ualan whimpered a reply, lifting his head from where he lay on his side. The massive mabari flattened his ears, head back on the ground as he stared off at nothingness.

Running a hand over his face, Alistair's hand scraped through his stubble, and he stood up. Widely stepping over the dog, he took to the bedside and looked down at the unconscious elf. Some of her colour had returned, though there was still darkness around her eyes.

As there were around his, he imagined. He knew neither of them were able to get very much sleep - and he figured her dreams were far worse than his. At least his had begun to taper off. But some nights...

Neria choked in a breath, the sound becoming a wheeze as she rolled in the bed, eyes still closed. The mabari leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Alistair into her, and he had to clasp the upper panel of the poster bed.

"Calm down," he hushed, looking at the dog as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Alistair?" Neria whispered, and her eyes opened, still carrying a luminous glow from the lyrium ritual. "Water?"

"Oh," he reached for the bedside table and snagged the glass. Good call, Wynne, he thought as he handed it to the elf.

Neria drained the pewter cup in one go, sitting up only as long as needed before slumping back into the pillows. The bed dwarfed her, and her hair splayed about her head. Closing her eyes for their weight, she reached for Alistair with a small smile.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, cringing in the bed as she shivered, thirst unquenched. She licked her lips in a drawn out way, tongue heavy.

"Oh you know, standing guard in case you came back as an abomination of course," Alistair reached for the bottle as he placed her cup back on the stand, "Or maybe because I was worried? Here, drink a little of this."

A flutter high in her chest, Neria took the bottle as he pulled the cork, and the lyrium sloshed on her chin as she took a deep gulp.

"Ah," Alistair tugged the bottle from her grasp, furrowing his brow as he quietly says, "Not much...Wynne said to limit it."

Neria touched a hand to her throat, licking the spilt lyrium up with a sliver of her tongue, and the sigh in her chest rattled softly, "R-right."

"Were... you able to kill the demon?"

"Yes," Neria softly said, her hand slipping down her neck, when she realized she was in a nightgown and a flush rose on her cheeks. "Did..."

"Oh-h, no - no, I... Wynne did..." Alistair looked down at Ualan, a muddled flip in his stomach as he tried to find distraction, "Hey, look who's been waiting for you too."

Trembling again, Neria closed her hand in a fist, even as she dropped it off the bed to receive a lick from her mabari. The hound whimpered softly, and she smiled, "It's okay, boy." When her arm shook harder, she pulled it back against her, cheeks rosy.

"You okay?"

Eyes up from under pale lashes, Neria swallowed before she nodded, and then her expression faltered, and she whispered, "I will be." Trying to sit up, she greened a little and let herself fall back, "Think I need to stay here a while."

"Quite the ritual," Alistair forced a smile, looking down between them, "So dramatic, the sounds, the light - I'm sure you'd draw crowds if you made a show of it. Just need to figure out a way for you to disappear."

Head spinning, Neria gave him a lopsided grin, trembling again and erasing the feigned offhandedness. The room was warm, he knew it, but he could feel the bed shiver with her tremors.

Alsitair put his hand over hers, skin clammy and cool, and his voice was raw, "Don't ever do that again, okay? We're Grey Wardens, right? Should be kicking darkspawn or something."

Neria grinned a little more, lips parting with a soft 'heh', and his expression lightened. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, kissing her hair and her brow as he sighed. Closing her eyes, she tried to stop another shiver, only succeeding at tightening her hand in his grasp.

"Neria, it means so much to me that you did this," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. Tears welled at the edges of her eyes as he said, "You could have done something quicker, something easier, but you did what was right..."

"He's a mage...wh..what if that'd been me?"

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead again and breathing her in, his heart fluttering.

"And I...I couldn't ...kill the arlessa." Her throat tightened, "I kill enough people..."

"Even if it is nice to imagine her getting crushed and suffering a little?"

Neria laughed a little more, opening her eyes to see Alistair grinning at her. Her small hand opened in his and they linked fingers, a flush on her cheeks. Her eyes still subtly glowed as she said, "I... I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," he sighed, and he kicked off his boots as she trembled again. Sitting up in the bed, he pulled her close, combing his fingers through her hair and kissing the strands again. "You need more rest."

"I need more lyrium," she murmured, and Alistair tightened his arm around her. "Haven't I spent enough time in the Fade today?"

"Not nearly," he chuckled, smiling against her as Neria laid her head on his chest. His heart was a rabbit's, and his stomach tensed as her fingers opened against him.

"You're so warm," she whispered, tilting her nose into him as she pulled close, the covers up to her waist between them. The days of scarce any sleep in the village compounded with what the ritual had taken out of her. The lyrium was a cold glow in her chest, a spark that begged for more, even as her eyes drooped.

Alistair reached to pull the rest of the blankets around her, messing the bed considerably, "Just uh, one of my many endearing qualities?"

Neria's soft chuckle muffled against him, her head heavier as he caressed her pale hair, listening to the deepening sounds of her breathing. The other side of the bed dipped as Ualan leapt up, sinking where the blankets had been to flop against the mage's back.

Both dog and elf were soon asleep, and Alistair watched her face relax. Fingers traced her cheek and hand, and he closed his eyes to feel the small movements of her breath against him. It made him tingle, and slowly her tremors faded, and his own eyes nodded increasingly longer. As much as he wanted to stay awake to relish their closeness, his body soon convinced him otherwise, chin slumped and back against the headboard with the mage in his arms.


	18. The Wasting

Hoisting the crate of dried meats, Alistair lugged it to where Bodahn readied his cart. Neria lingered back as her companions prepped, still malnourished and thin. She had stayed in bed three days, and couldn't in good conscience allow herself longer.

Bann Teagan hurried down the path from the castle, seeing the elf amidst a small group of villagers at the base of the windmill. It was one of the few times he'd seen her with her hood down, and her helm was tucked underarm.

"Without you, it'd all been lost, Warden. We're all in your debt."

A light flush on her cheeks, Neria placed her hand on the woman's, who squeezed it before giving the elf an unexpected hug. The mage seemed at a loss.

One of the children there shifted from foot to foot, "My mum couldn't come, but she wanted to thanke you – my da says you healed him when's one of those things shot him with an arrow."

Neria smiled, tucking her hair behind her elven ear as she accepted a small hand-made charm from the girl, "I'm glad I could. Is he well?"

"Oh yeah," the little girl smirked, "Mum's convinced him to join the arl's army, so he can help you with the Blight."

"Then you thank him for me?"

"Yeah I guess," she shifted again and then blurted, "You's really a mage?"

The adults present murmured, and an adolescent snatched her by the shoulders, blushing, "Sorry miss, for my sis, this has all been some ordeal."

"I am...it's alright." Neria grinned at the slack-jawed girl.

Some of the villagers stepped back, and Teagan took the opportunity to stride forward. "It didn't seem proper to let you go without thanking you again for all you've done – and for the task you undertake to see Arl Eamon cured."

The common folk each twisted to give the noble a bow, which Teagan waved off.

"I came here to honour one of the Heroes of Redcliffe, as did all of you. It stands because of this woman." The Bann's voice dropped momentarily, "I will strive to keep the Bannorn vigilant against Loghain in your absence to find the urn."

Neria blushed and dipped her head, lips parting to intercede but the Teagan continued.

"Remember this day, for she and her companions go to stop the Blight and save your beloved arl." The bann reached for her hand, stooping to kiss it and worsening the blush, "Maker preserve you and yours, my lady."

Tugging her hand back, Neria could not form any words in her embarrassment. She nodded and put her helm on, before spinning to hurry up the hill. Leiliana met her halfway.

"Mm, the bann seems quite taken with you," the bard glanced back, smiling as she waved to the clot of people the mage had left behind. "He's handsome too."

"Maker, I hope not," Neria sighed, leaning into the slope to ascend.

* * *

The southern shore of Lake Calenhad was colder but relatively free of snow, scoured by the winds that came out of the Hinterlands. Neria pushed them, and when they camped by the narrows that night they were exhausted. Alistair was in his tent as soon as they'd finished their evening meal, and it was barely dark before Neria and Zevran were the only ones left for watch.

Slumped against a log, Neria hid a vial of lyrium in her hand and sipped it now and then. Finished cleaning his blades, Zevran sat beside her, looking into the darkness.

"A good vintage?

Neria covered the lip of the vial with her thumb, flustered as she looked down. If she hadn't been sipping the potion, she would have undoubtedly been more irritable, "Yes, quite good."

"Mm... I'll be the judge of that, you Ferelden's have an odd sense of taste. Do you intend to share?"

"Only if you do?" she countered.

The Antivan chuckled and slipped off the log to sit on the cold ground beside her, "Ah, Warden... I am always willing to share."

Neria's cheeks blushed rose as she kept her eyes down and murmured, "It's lyrium... so sure you want some?"

"In that case, no," Her fellow elf rest an arm along the log they leant upon, feet stretched towards the fire, "Though I was under the impression you were not to drink this too often."

"Oh?" She tried to sound as nonchalant as him.

"Indeed," Zevran opened his hand, "Allow me. Wynne was quite insistent to Alistair if I recall."

"How do you know that?"

"You know how us elves hear things," he chuckled, "Perhaps it is a bad habit of mine?"

Her tongue was numb from the lyrium as Neria glazed over, watching the fire before taking another sip.

Zevran clicked, "Truly, do not tempt me to wrest it away from you... I might enjoy it far too much."

Blushing at the purr in his voice, Neria thrust the half-emptied vial his way. Zevran corked it and its subtle blue glow disappeared with a flick of his wrist. Her eyes almost seemed luminous in the dark, and the glow of her hair from the fire lent her an ethereal quality.

"Now that those pleasantries are passed..."

Neria summoned an orb of magic, ignoring Zevran's words, and lobbed it over the fire to fizzle on the ground without fanfare. She kept it up steadily, a mental exercise to stretch her endurance. She could produce one every few seconds now, and continue to for quite some time. It was tiring, but she needed something to override the abyss gnawing inside.

They'd taken all the lyrium away from her now.

"It seemed you and the mage in the castle had quite the history."

Neria's hands curled back into her lap, eyes down as the last orb sparked away. Jowan had been returned to Redcliffe castle's dungeon to await the arl's judgement. In seeking the ashes, in curing the arl, her friend's future was in her hands once again.

"Maybe. But he's made his own fate." It didn't sound convincing in her mind.

Zevran opened a small pouch and picked a few bits from it to eat. It was the thorns she often collected to stay alert. He'd asked about them outside of Denerim – it seemed he'd taken to gathering them on his own. She took a few to chew.

"Did he now?"

Closing her eyes, Neria sighed and began to tell him about her last days in the Tower. She could only look at the glowing embers of the fire as she recounted meeting Duncan, buckling to the First Enchanter, and handing Jowan and the woman he loved over to the templars.

"Leading him to his doom, when I could have simply refused. Left him and Lily to try escaping on their own. If I hadn't given him over, would the arl have ever been poisoned? Would all those people have died in Redcliffe?"

"They would have found another mage to dance for Loghain." Zevran said as Neria hugged her knees to her small frame. That he had come to kill her - that he had tried, and she forgot it and had forged this peculiar friendship.

"Can I blame him?" she whispered, "You've seen the tranquil envoy... that was his fate." Neria shook her head and shivered, "No emotion, no passion..."

"No regret or shame," Zevran added.

Neria chewed at her inner lip, running a hand back into her hair, "Don't poets and bards say the suffering is worth the joy?"

"I am certain the Chantry would as well."

Eyes in her lap, Neria's expression remained dubious, "How would I have reacted to becoming tranquil." She sighed, "What does it matter, I betrayed him. "

"Is it not said that we betray those for whom we care most?"

"Perhaps." Neria rubbed her hands up her arms. Her veins felt hollow - lyrium always did that. Light and clear inside, cold and precise.

"I had hoped you would kill me that day," Zevran mused, flicking the whetstone over his dagger as he stared at the fire. "To take a job no others would, against those who fight the nightmares of the world for a living."

"Everything you've said - I thought you enjoyed your lifestyle as a Crow?"

"I did something I found myself unable to forgive or forget." And then Neria's hand was on his, no words, no questions, no demands. Just a touch. Didn't it say enough? "Come, my dear Warden, lest we forget our duties."

Zevran rose from the warmth of the fire, stepping back into the cold comfort of the night. This was what he deserved, not the company - the friendship - of some sweet mage. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw Neria had wordlessly joined him.

"You're right," she finally said, crossing her arms and staring off through the crags. "The... the first person I ever killed was when I was lax on my night watch."

There was frost in the air, crunching the grasses underfoot. Pleased with the work on his dagger, Zevran turned it in his hand as he inquired, "Did you regret it?"

"I regret them all," Neria said, tugging her heavy cloak closer, "But I cannot let it stay my hand. My life is not my own. It never has been."

Zevran slipped his hand along the curve of her arm, pulling Neria into his lips, kissing her with ease. She froze in his grasp, a blush burning her cheeks as he withdrew, a soft chuckle in his throat.

"Truly, you are a radiant gem, _tesoro_."

Neria took a step back, her only recourse as she breathed, "I don't know about that..."

Loosening his grip on his dagger, Zevran sheathed it and softly laughed, "But I do."

"I...I need to wake Wynne..."

Zevran caught her by the elbow as she turned, "Have I made you uncomfortable, Neria?"

"Isn't that what you're always trying to do?"

* * *

Neria scarce emerged from her self-imposed silence, cheeks drawn in the days since leaving Redcliffe. They were approaching a hamlet in the Bannorn, their way difficult on the poorly kept roads in an effort to avoid the horde to the south. The smoke could be seen a few hills over, and she picked up the pace on spotting it.

Her limbs ached from a morning spar, and the rejuvenating spell that she'd cast had only done so much. Neria had been learning a method to resist arcane influence, based on some writing she had gathered at the Tower. Combined with the lyrium imbibed, she questioned if she were growing resistant to more than offensive magic – despite Wynne's assurance otherwise.

"This doesn't look good."

Alistair walked beside her, the first thing he'd said since they broke camp that morning. Her irritability had made things tense, and though he didn't know it, Zevran's actions had also contributed to her withdrawal inward.

"We'll do what is needed."

"It does not look blighted," Morrigan observed, easily keeping stride with her fellow mage. The surrounding fields were half-burnt, and snow clung in the rows of stubble. Passing the first farmstead, she saw the door was wide open.

"Leiliana, Morrigan...Alistair... stand watch." Neria beckoned the rest with her, leaving the trio confused by Bodahn. There was a huff as Ualan came from roaming a field, and at Alistair's word, he sat on the road watching his mistress go.

"I do not like this," Sten murmured.

Zevran wrinkled his nose, drawing his daggers as he followed along the dirt path, "The smell is unpleasantly familiar." He followed Neria up the steps and into the house.

Searching through the main room, the assassin pulled his cloak over his nose and mouth. An indecipherable string of Antivan precluded him saying, "Get out. It is the Wasting."

"But the bodies..."

Eyes over the shrivelled family that lay crumpled by the fire, Zevran shook his head, "Go. Now. It has killed hundreds in Antiva." He clutched Neria's arm when she hesitated, dragging her after Sten and Wynne.

"If it is an illness, we must burn the bodies."

"It is a plague," he hissed, fingers locked on her upper arm, "A death sentence."

"I am already living a death sentence."

Half way down the farmstead's walk, Zevran let her go and spoke under his breath as Wynne mentioned her familiarity with it, "If you wish to do what is best, burn the house and everything within. We must burn our clothing too, and get vinegar for our armour. Who knows what we may have touched."

"Zevran, I've never seen you like this," Neria pulled away as he stripped off her cloak, and tangled the fabric with his own before tossed it on the ground. Sten and Wynne each followed suit. Surprised and increasingly cold, Neria's mouth hung open, a blush rising as they all shucked their clothes.

"Can we afford n-no modesty?"

Nearly naked and cold, Neria huddled in the shadow of Bodahn's cart and scrubbed her skin with the mixture Zevran had concocted.

"I smell like a pickle," she murmured, still blushing to be exposed to the countryside so.

When Leiliana heard Zevran, the bard had paled and uttered a prayer. The Wasting had not been seen in Ferelden since the beginning of the Orlesian occupation, according to Wynne.

Neria shivered as the wind blew up, bringing with it the stinging stench of burning. Her hands and feet were already numb when she stood, clenching her jaw to keep from chattering. Leiliana stood nearby with a waiting woollen cloak.

Reaching for her vinegar doused boots, she felt the ghost of an itch in her soul. It grew as she pulled on the footwear, and had just barely snagged the cloak when she heard Alistair call out.

"You've got to be kidding me," Neria hissed as she wrapped the cloak to block the wind, lips and skin pale from the cold. The tug inside twisted insistently, and she looked to find where her sword or staff had gone. Someone else had been cleaning them.

Trying to save herself further embarrassment, Neria clutched her cloak closed as she saw the first of the darkspawn across the field. Alistair charged headlong towards them, when his foot sunk down in the soil. The field wasn't completely frozen. Nearby, Wynne, Sten, and Zevran were scrambling to pull on scraps of armour and clothing. Leiliana notched an arrow as she stayed upslope, and a whorling red aura surrounded Morrigan, whose staff rose high.

There were at least a dozen genlocks and hurlocks coming over the crest, and the weal on Neria's soul festered insistently. As much as she and Alistair were drawn to sense them, the darkspawn could feel them too, and advanced with ferocious hate.

No more time, Neria thought, eyes narrowing as she raised her hands to the sky. She had not tried it in active combat yet, restricting her practise to the night, out of distance from her slumbering companions. Nor had she attempted it since the ritual in Redcliffe.

Leiliana cried out as the echoed whisper of a shriek was met with its claws down her back. Neria held steady, eyes clouding into the chant she wrought, tugging at the aether to draw what she needed, and the fields ahead of Alistair clotted with fog. Wind pulled from behind her towards the gathering gale, and freeing his foot, the ex-templar fell back from the corona of the ice and snow that erupted.

The valley between the small hills obscured in the summoned storm, snow and lashes of frigid cloud seeping at the edges. The oncoming troupe of darkspawn was caught within.

Neria nearly collapsed, her breath sucked from her by the hammer of fatigue. Her cloak was snagged by another shriek, its tainted talons lashing her unprotected skin. A bolt of energy fizzled in her hand, unleashed onto her attacker, and the cry of its namesake pierced her psyche.

Poleyn and boots mismatched with only a cuirass, Zevran flowed to bury his dagger to the hilt in the shriek's back. His other hand snapped to slit its throat, and the sound cut away as the cold, tainted blood spewed over Neria.

The mage groaned, floundering to keep the cloak against her increasingly chilled body. Even if she had her clothing, her pocketbelt, she wouldn't have the lyrium her mind and body screamed for. Neria sank to her knees, eyes dilated too far, the world over-bright and her senses numbed like her skin.

Around her, the rest fought what they could. Wynne had recovered a staff, her healing words bringing relief as gashes and bruising mounted. Zevran darted light footed down the hill, his and Alistair's slashes shattering the darkspawn caught in the fading blizzard.

Each was panting as Alistair gave the all clear, and Wynne finally saw Neria amidst a few corpses. She was convulsing with cold, and the elder mage touched her chest, whispering a rejuvenating tide through her limbs.

The frantic edge in Neria's eyes disappeared as she closed them and whispered, "L-lyrium."

"No dear, you can't."

"Please, Wynne," Neria whispered, her teeth clattering as they eased her from the ground. The dwarven merchant poked his head out the back of his caart, popping the gate down when he saw them approach.

"Let's get you clothed so you can rest."

"Th-the darkspawn –"

"I'll make sure they're burnt," Alistair assured her, giving Wynne a hand to get the half-naked elf onto the cart, ears blushing despite himself.

She thought she'd been doing so well, but Neria felt hollow again, and she clamoured at one of the shelves in the cart. "I-I'm sorry, Bodahn..."

"It's alright, miss, we'll get you warm and fed."

Closed in the warmth of the cart, Wynne helped Neria dress in robes, finally convincing her to rest her head. Sandal sat and stared at the elf, his usual smile blank. Bodahn said he'd gladly keep an eye, and Wynne joined the others outside.

Alistair finished piling the darkspawn, and Wynne set them alight as he asked, "How is she?"

"Overexerted," Wynne sighed, "I had thought she would be recovering better. It's worrisome."

"She's strong – she has improved," he said, looking at the cart.

"I see how you look at her," Wynne followed him towards the hamlet. Down the road, Morrigan set a house on fire before lighting more torches for the others.

"What?" Alistair squeaked, before evading, "Zevran found more dead. It seems most of the settlement succumb."

"A terrible thing..."

"He's quite insistent about burning it all. I thought for a moment he was just trying to get you all out of your clothing, but..." Alistair's cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat, "Seems he was genuinely concerned."

Wynne tiredly said, "Let us go search for survivors then."

"Right, yes..."

Sticking to the road when they could, they wandered through the cluster of burning houses and saw one of the Dalish envoys kneeling by the well. At seeing Alistair, he motioned them over.

"She is alive, but starved – I believe her leg is broken as well," he said.

An elven woman was propped against the stone well, her eyes reddened as she looked up. She had a pewter cup in hand, and the roped bucket beside her was half-filled with water and rimmed in ice. "I didn't think I'd live to see anyone else. Please... please help me..."

"We cannot just leave her here." The Dalish hunter crossed his arms, frowning at Alistair.

"We won't," he quietly said.

"Keep still," Wynne closed her eyes to concentrate, hands suspended over the elf's legs, and with the right incantation, the healing light mended the limb. "That should fix the break...but it will be weak for some days still..."

The hunter extended his hand, and the elf took it, weakly pulling up.

Her face softened and she almost cried as she said, "Bless you... I was so frightened I would die here."

"We'll get you some food... I'm sorry... most of the village has been lost."

Dirt on her cheeks, the elven woman shook as she nodded, leaning heavily into the Dalish hunter, and he supported her and said, "You won't be alone."

"Thank you, ser," she nodded and let herself be led away on careful steps.

They found no more survivors, and those that hadn't died from the Wasting were found amidst darkspawn blood and taint, their bodies decaying with grater haste and blackening the ground around them. It seemed most had died some weeks previous, though the elven woman, Dinala, was loathe to speak of anything.

Embarking from the village as soon as Zevran seemed satisfied, they did not rest till into the night, when they were well away from the fiery glow behind them. By then, Neria had risen and walked quietly beside him – he had encouraged her pace to the front, using their elven sight to guide them in the dimming light.

"I also do not think it wise to have brought Dinala."

"So they should have just left her to die?"

"If she grows ill, she will be the death of us all."

Neria snuffled, tucking the scarf higher over her mouth till the fibers tickled her nose, "We should make camp, you all need sleep."

Zevran chuckled coldly, "I need a bath moreso. Perhaps you would warm my water?"

"Find and gather the water and yes, I will – but I'm not helping with the washing," Neria's cheeks coloured, and she shook her head. For one of the first time in days she felt warm, walking in the twilight.

"Oh, but I would only ever ask your aide with the dirtying," Zevran purred in reply, grinning for the first time since they encountered the hamlet.

"Zev, you are terrible," she laughed, giving him a push before turning to find Alistair. "We're stopping for the night."

Zevran stopped and smiled inwardly, giving a slight bow, "Of course, dear Warden."

* * *

The second night out from the plagued hamlet, Neria and Alistair were sparring after the evening meal. They'd aquired a pair of wasters in Redcliffe, and he parried her blow with ease. Wynne sat by the fire writing, listening with a smile as Leiliana hummed between different songs, now and then singing brightly. The rest of their companions were farther from the main group of tents, the night warmer than it had been in some time.

The arcane elf entered another exchange with her brother at arms, his footwork precise and aiding in deflecting her surprising strength.

"Better," he laughed, though as she faltered he raised his brow.

"I – I think I need to stop for now," she forced a smile, leaning on the wooden practise sword. The glow that scarce illuminated her faded in a puff of mist, "Still don't have your stamina."

"And the day you do, you can take on the whole Blight yourself I'm sure – you'd leave me with nothing to be better than you at."

Sniffing in, Neria wiped her arm under her nose as she chuckled, eyes reddened as she moved stiffly towards the fire. "There is a great deal you're better at."

"I'm speaking of useful things though, that's the difference." Alistair grinned and took her sword, storing them with their things before joining her by the fire.

Concealing a thick cough, Neria smiled with her eyes and said, "You're good at making me laugh..."

A slight red rising on his cheeks, Alistair laughed nervously before murmuring, "Maybe it's just you. I'm not that funny."

Leiliana grinned from across the fire, sorting through a variety of feathers in her lap before beginning to split them. Gathering a few dried needles and berries from her satchel, Neria wrapped it in a thin cloth, dropping it into her cup. Filling it with water, there was a burnished glow in her palm before a steam rose from the metal cup.

A scream late in the night woke them from their rolls, and Neria's heart leapt into her throat as she scrambled up. Ualan barked immediately, tramping over her and out of the tent into the pre-dawn light. Pulling on a robe and tying her sash, the mage scrambled into her boots and hopped out with staff in hand. That her mabari had settled into worried woofs let her pulse slow a little, she could hear a woman arguing with what sounded like the Antivan assassin.

"Get off of me, woman," Zevran scrambled back, and Neria saw him illuminated by the fire. "What did he look like!"

"Just like the Feverfews and Brightons," Dinala wept, half-clad in a cloak and nightshirt, shaking her hands beside her face, "Like all the village."

Zevran hissed, "Then go back to your camp, you'll kill us all!"

Sleep clearing from her eyes, Neria summoned her spellwisp for more light. The rest of the tents rustled too as the rest of camp woke to their aid. Her voice crackled thickly, and she touched her throat as she asked, "What is it?"

Glancing at the mage, Zevran said, "Ganlian. The Dalish hunter is dead." His hand was on his dagger, jerking to pull it free, "He was ill, he had to be - why didn't you tell us!"

"I didn't know, I swear it."

"Liar!" Zevran snatched her wrist, "Do not think you can blow smoke in my eyes."

"I was afraid, please, don't hurt me, I-I don't want to die!" Dinala cried.

Neria shivered, running her wrist over her brow to wipe the sweat from her reddened skin. Her voice cracked again, "He's dead?"

"Oh Maker," Leiliana put a hand over her mouth, her hair in braids and tied back from her face by a cloth. She glanced at Neria, and her expression clouded, "Neria, are you alright, dear?"

Zevran bit his lips closed and stabbed his dagger back into his belt, glancing as Leiliana put her hand to Neria's forehead.

"You are burning up, dear - Wynne!"

" _Siamo fottuti_!" Zevran released Dinala's wrist with a jerk, "You have brought it among us."

"No! No, I'm fine, Zev -" Neria croaked, closing her eyes at the embarrassment.

"You're sick dear, come," Wynne took Neria's arm, leading her farther away as Zevran's voice became more heated. Soon, Dinala turned back to the Dalish tents, taking with her the torch he'd lit from the fire.

Wrapping a scarf around his neck and mouth, Zevran's brow stayed furrowed as the other Dalish hunter stormed up.

"What are you doing! You know we do not burn our dead like shemlen!"

"He died of a plague, we'll be lucky if he doesn't kill us all," Zevran hissed, crossing his arms.

Coughing wetly as Wynne coaxed her down, Neria kept a hand over her mouth as the mage cooled a cloth and held it at the back of her neck.

"Chill yourself, Neria, remember your training."

"It's the first time I've been warm in so long," the elven mage whispered, and Alistair's disbelieving laugh joined Wynne's chuckle as he settled down.

"Is this the tea you made? There, now drink it," A heated cup was soon in Neria's hand, and she quieted and drank. Wynne touched a hand to the elf's cheek, and whispered words exchanged between them before a soft mist ensconced her.

"It's nothing, I do not wish anyone to worry," Neria whispered.

"Just a cold," Wynne reassured her and those within hearing range, producing something else from her bag of components, "Take this and sleep, the rest of us will worry about the watch tonight."


	19. Gilded Fields

It was a grim morning, humid with a frigid southern breeze. Relatively unrested, Zevran had packed a good portion of camp by the time the rest of the company woke. Neria emerged in her armour despite a maternal glower from Wynne, waving a hand as she looked over to the Dalish envoys. They too had already prepped to move, their faces covered as all moved back onto the dirt road.

Beckoning one of the elves too her as they walked, Neria quietly said, "I wished your opinion of the gathering Dalish army."

"I sent a runner last week that I am set to rendezvous with once more before we reach Denerim. The last reports detailed the assemblage of supply trains for the gathering force. Communications and transport have been difficult between clans, given the season."

Neria rest a hand on her throat, the mail there holding a tight wrapped poultice that soothed her throat. Her voice was still raw, "I expect a written report of the next update received. We may visit the encampment once we have concluded our business in the city."

A flicker of displeasure crossed the man's features, but he acquiesced, "Of course, Warden. I must go prepare another messenger."

Trying her best to keep pace, Neria lagged behind most of the group, and Alistair dropped back to keep her company.

"Alistair, do you have any idea what we're doing?"

Chuckling as he drank from a skein, Alistair wiped a hand down his chin and said, "Do I ever?" She looked up to him with pleading eyes and he followed with, "What do you reference today?"

"War," she sighed. "Its logistics, troop movement, training, supplies, it just..." Neria coughed a few times, holding the scarf over her mouth. "I know nothing about any of it."

"I don't know much myself..." Alistair watched the road ahead of them as they came around a bend, scanning for oddities. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better. Nothing to worry about," Neria forced a smile, glancing up to the man beside her. Alistair's eyes softened as he met her eyes, and he couldn't help but smile when she tripped, looking away as they both flushed.

Much to their relief, when they rose the next dawn, no one showed any signs of illness, and Dinala mentioned going with the Dalish messenger to find a clan to live with. She had been a servant in the village, a good life, but it was gone now, and she admitted the debt that weighted her soul for Ganlian's death.

Neria's voice had returned to full strength as they bid farewell, the woman thanking them once more for saving her before walking off with the scout to meet up with the gathering army. Through the plains they finished off a band of darkspawn that was terrorizing a farmer, and the man invited them to stay the night on his property in thanks.

"So far I've been able to hold out well enough, only the last week I've started seeing darkspawn."

"I do not mean to bear ill will, but it will only be safe so much longer. Though we are amassing an army, your safety will be in numbers." Neria said as him as his wife handed her a barley stew. The elf smiled in thanks.

"We haven't heard much, but the talk about a Blight."

Alistair sighed, cupping his bowl as he said, "It is, I'm afraid."

"See Johan, it's just like my sister said," the missus replied, grinning to refill Alistair's bowl. "My sister came through from Lothering, she said those darkspawn were pushing and blighting the land."

The farmer hushed her with a stern look, "We don't have much, living a simple life out here. But most of my cattle have died in recent raids... so the barn is free. It's out of the elements, lots of fresh hay..."

"That is so kind of you, ser," Leiliana replied, smiling warmly.

"It is very much appreciated, as is this warm meal, thank you," Neria added.

"We must go finish the chores and mind the children, but if you'd join us for prayer..." The farmer clasped his hand, as did his wife and the young boy he'd allowed to join them. "Maker, keep us in your light as the vengeance of Your Blight sweeps across the land. That these travellers walk in Your sight and do Your bidding, project them as you do us."

"Maker be praised," his wife offered, and she kissed a symbol she wore around her neck.

The farmer led them out of the house, showing them over his snow-dappled property to the large, dark barn. In the distance the sun set, the partially clouded sky warmed with oranges and pinks.

"That's how I see it, you know. There's been do much wrong in the world, we still must suffer for all we've ruined of the Maker's vision. Ferelden's on the brink of being swallowed - damned in payment, so that maybe all of Thedas might be redeemed."

Neria nodded attentively, even as she saw Leiliana grimace in her periphery.

"Hopefully the suffering will be enough. We've done the Maker so much wrong, it all needs be cleansed." The farmer declared, unhooking the lock on the wide barn doors. "I'll have the missus bring you some water - we have a few casks of ale too, seems the least that I give you one. It's you that's doing the Maker's work."

"Thank you for your hospitality, ser." Neria inclined her head, lingering by the door as her companions filled the space. Bodahn tied his horse at the troughs, patting its rump as it settled into some hay. A few words passed between the others before she said, "We'll be sure to keep watch through the night."

"Thank ye, miss, rest well."

Looking through the barn, Neria strolled in at Alistair's side, and tilted her head to him, "So, does this leave you feeling at home?"

"Oh ha ha, so funny."

"It is warmer, I like that," Neria added with a grin.

Climbing into the loft, the mage took a moment to look over the lands, a light frost gilding the field and trees, illuminated by the moon. Piece by piece she undid her belts and laid her pack aside, stretching her shoulders in relief as her freed herself of plate and mail. The metal clunked on the wood beneath her and she cringed, realizing how quickly the barn was quieting. Taking her comb from her pack, she brushed through her hair, a luxury that was beginning to lose its bristles.

"I didn't realize how long it was getting."

Neria turned, brush in hand still caught in the tresses, offering a small smile to Alistair. He took careful steps after a few clumps that echoed through the structure. The quiet whispers of their companions were below.

"It is I suppose...it... used to be a lot longer..."

"It's nice," Alistair cleared his throat and came to sit across from her, ruffling a hand over his head, "I know mine has been getting scruffy. I.. I was going to ask well.. if you'd... cut it for me.."

"It looks fine," Neria softly laughed, resting the brush in her lap.

Alistair slipped one of his hands over hers, toying with her fingers as he murmured, "It gets in the way. Or did I just end up with the uncomfortable helm?"

"Maybe," Neria pursed her lips in, watching their hands. "Did you want me to now?"

"Oh-h, well I... I didn't mean right now. I think we're on the last watch, early morning." Alistair stroked his free hand through her hair. It was so rarely free like this - at least, without being in full view of some of their other companions. The moonlight made it almost silvery.

"Did you set that up?"

"Leiliana asked if I wanted to trade," he said with a slight flush, expression dubious before it mirrored hers, and they both grinned. "What, I wasn't going to say no."

"She's so sweet... Maybe I'll get you to cut mine too."

"What? No... no it's so beautiful. Like you need me butchering it."

Neria sat up a little more as he leant closer, their foreheads near touching as she whispered, "It gets in the way..." She smiled as their noses brushed together, and Alistair's fingers fell from her hair to her neck, a tentative touch over her skin.

"Can't have that," he whispered, before she pressed into his lips. A 'mph' caught in his throat, hand hovering by her neck, only settling as she coaxed little kisses from him, pulse threatening to asphyxiate him. The tip of her tongue flirted over the crease of his lips.

"I-is that alright?" Neria whispered, tilting into his hand as she smiled, seeing his eyes closed. She touched him in return, hand cold on his warmed cheek.

"Yes," he breathed, smiling as their noses slid together, and he kissed her, only catching her top lip. The lengthening kisses urged each to sit up, and Alistair's hand crept up her forearm, hesitant before pressing about the curve of her waist. He rest his forehead on hers, eyes closed as he whispered, "Maker, you make me crazy, did you know that?"

"I do now?" Neria breathed in deeply, eyes closed to leave her head swimming in the musk and scent of him, of the poultice she'd dressed his arm in that afternoon. His fingers tightened in her jerkin, and she kissed him again.

"I can't imagine doing any of this without you..."

Opening her eyes, Neria kneaded her fingers up Alistair's neck, and his eyes met hers half-lidded. Impulsively, she kissed the tip of his nose, and the nervous edge eased into a muted smile. "I'd hope you wouldn't be doing it with someone else..."

Alistair laughed, tilting his face down onto her shoulder. Neria buried her face into his shaggy hair, and the hand on her waist crept further to pull her close. It was an awkward way to sit, but she braced a foot to hold herself against him. She kissed just below his hear before planting her cheek there.

"I barely have any idea what I'm doing with you, let alone even fathoming..." he laughed again nervously, and his stubble dragged on her skin. "I just mean I...I've never..."

Neria couldn't keep the blush from rising on her cheeks, and she quieted her lips on his neck, breathing deep before she found her voice, "I think about kissing you... so that must say something?"

"You do?"

"Of course," she whispered, trying not to grin as the apples of her cheeks reddened. He tightened his arms around her, and she scrambled a bit to sit on his thighs, "There, enough trying to figure out where I or our legs go." They both giggled, touching noses again before she kissed him.

"Thank you for not getting the plague, by the way."

"Seemed the least I could do. However appealing I know you found my runny nose."

"Maker," Alistair laughed, muffling the sound against her as he shook his head, "Yes, incredibly attractive, I must say. Right up there with being spattered in blood."

"Terrible," Neria snickered, leaning into him and looking out the window. She reached for the shutter, closing the wooden latch. Nestling into his arms, she sighed and closed her eyes.

"I guess I should go – not like either of us need sleep."

Neria lay her head against him, smile partially hidden, "I'll see you again soon."

"Yes," he whispered, cupping her cheek as they rubbed noses. She kissed him again and brought a smile, "I could be content enough staying like this."

* * *

Waking in the night in a cold sweat, Neria covered her face, tears damp on her cheeks. The images of the horde and the sickening sounds as they fed ebbed from her thoughts. She rubbed her arms, skin crawling beneath her loose clothes. Pulling her furs closer, she sat up and looked through the barn.

Quiet as possible, Neria assembled her armour and effects before crawling down the ladder and stumbling outside. Sten only greeted her with a glance, and the mage waved a hand to dismiss him.

"Can't sleep?"

Tying on a hood to tame her hair, Neria glanced at Leiliana and shook her head.

"So I should go wake Alistair?"

Neria grinned despite herself, eyes downcast as she secured her helm. "That's up to you. I do not know how long you've been up."

The bard smiled in return, checking over Neria's straps and adjusting one beneath her arms without modesty, "Men will show you this differently. But if you wear it so... you will be much more comfortable."

Moving her arms, the breast plate hugged Neria's curves to give her a better range of motion, "Thank you... I.. know there's still much I don't know."

"You are better than many. And you have magic on your side, mm? How many can swing a sword they've imbued to freeze their opponents?"

"Oh," Neria looked over the fields as she took up her sword. Starting her warm-ups, she said, "I don't know..."

"You're even gaining muscle, no matter how you really wield that huge sword."

"It's not that big," Neria stopped.

"Come here," Leiliana unbuckled her leather bracer and spaulder to reveal her right arm. "Flex like this and show me."

"No," Neria laughed, flushing as her friend took her arm, stripping it bare until they were both grinning.

"You need to be manly when you show off your muscles," Leiliana flexed her bicep and growled a bit, before encouraging Neria, "See? Like this."

"Now you're just being silly."

"Maybe, but do it anyway?" Leiliana laughed when Neria flexed. The bard fanned herself and gave the girl's muscle a squeeze, "See? Look at that."

"I'd rather not," Neria smirked and tugged away to pull down her sleeve. "I'm sure you're even better with a sword."

"There is something about a bow, though," Leiliana's eyes sparkled at Neria's discomfort. "It sings to me. Look at that... I should get some rest, no?" She motioned to the softening blue brightening the horizon.

"If you'd like," Neria chuckled, turning her concentration inward as the bard disappeared.

An almost imperceptible hum rose from her skin as Neria lifted her chin, the natural pathways a mage maintains humming at her behest. She could see the shimmer on her skin, threatening to pull her apart as she once more tried to push the envelope.

She wasn't certain if it had been what happened in Redcliffe, or the lyrium withdrawal - thankfully that was abating – but she had felt an urge to experiment more recklessly with the knowledge acquired so far in their travels. She had been to the Fade a few times now, strengthening the link needed to accomplish what she had researched.

Like a puzzle, Neria's thoughts clicked and there was the sudden pressure of a tide, and she gasped, her material self stratified across the Veil. The hum muted, a glow imbuing her limbs as they gained an ethereal translucency. Breathing without a sound, she lowered her arms. The wind of the Fade tugged at her soul, its immaterial presence left visible, filling the margins of her scarce present body.

She felt stronger than she had in days, and it zinged through her.

Neria laughed, unable to stop looking at her hands, as though they were mirrors. Her laugh had an airy quality, echoing all its own, a bell resonating from a steeple.

"By the Maker!" Alistair drew his sword.

Neria spun around, able to see his sheet-pale face in the low firelight. Her own body projected a light too, unnatural. The ground was still solid underfoot, and she stepped toward him. He tensed, raising his weapon.

She realized there was something familiar about her form. The Brecilian ruins – there had been ghosts within that looked exactly like she did.

"Alistair, it's me." Her voice was as insubstantial as her form.

The man's face crumpled, his sword dropping as he whispered, "Neria... oh Maker, Neria... you're –"

"No! No..." Closing her eyes, Neria released the anchor she held in the Fade, and a dewy mist fell off her skin as she solidified. "I'm alright, I promise."

Keeping his distance, Alistair furrowed his brow and stooped to get his sword, "What were you doing?"

"Practising," Neria reassured him, "Need to expand my magic as much as my swordplay."

"Right, of course, how..." Alistair swallowed, his colour returning as he stepped and clutched her arms. "Just... had to make sure you were real."

Neria blushed as she looked up to him, "I didn't know you were there..." Held in his grasp, she did her best to explain what she'd accomplished, and how it might protect her in battle.

"Well if it doesn't fully work, at least you'll scare the crap out of everyone."

Laughing softly, Neria looked down, only to be caught in Alistair's embrace.

He rested his chin on top of her head and murmured. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm not."

"Good. Because the last thing Ferelden needs is me trying to gather and lead an army. Bastard of the king's or not."

"You'd do fine," she laughed, unable to lift her head, content to be pinned against him.

"I'd end up lost somewhere without any pants, thinking I'd won the war."

"Hardly," Neria pulled free to tug off her helm and she smiled as she undid her cap. "Better?"

Rough hand through her messed white hair, Alistair murmured, "Yes."

"You are very cute when you pout."

Alistair tried to keep up the facade, but soon he smiled, "You think so?"

Rough hand through her messed white hair, Alistair murmured, "Yes."

"Oh yes."

His cheek on the top of her head, Alistair looked to where the sun hadn't yet broke the horizon. The muted light was growing. He fingered through her hair, tugging and plying the pale strands before he said, "Would you promise me something?"

"Mm?"

"Try not to ever um, hug or kiss me or anything when you're all faded? Way too creepy."

Neria laughed and nudged him.

* * *

The rest of the way to Denerim reinforced the stress that the Blight and the civil war was exacting upon the land. The refugee camp had grown in size, and the winter had not been kind. People were frightened, cold, and running low on food – more than once, they saw squabbles break out between the peasantry and former landholders.

Word was the south had been lost, and that Lothering was one of the main holdings for the darkspawn horde. Loghain's army was dispersed through the northern Bannorn, and here and there half-ravaged packs of soldiers rested while awaiting reassignment.

Neria pushed them onward through towards city gates once they had established a camp beyond the crossroads a half day out from the city. The less attention they could draw the better. Separating once within the city, Neria asked her Leiliana to take the lead with Genetivi's assistant once more, and Morrigan to procure supplies while she and Alistair sought out the ramshackle house that he indicated was his sister's.

Inside, the woman that welcomed them fell short of the heartfelt hope that Alistair was looking for. Blaming him for their mother's death, the callow woman ranted at him for some time.

"He's your brother... aren't you glad to see him at all?" Neria asked.

Goldanna put a hand on her hip, motioning to the elven mage, "And who are you supposed to be, knife-ear? His servant, shine his armour or something?"

"Hey, don't you speak to her that way – she's my friend." Alistair furrowed his brow.

"Oh far be it from me to speak poorly, majesty." Goldanna scoffed, looking Neria over. "Look if you're wanting to help your sister, then give me something. I've got mouths to feed, you know, always have."

Alistair was at a loss, and Neria touched his arm before saying, "Come... she just wants our gold. We need it for the army."

"Yeah," he said, furrowing his brow, "I'm sorry I came."

"You and me both," Goldanna said, shaking her head before pushing them out the door.

Left under the cold, bright sky, Alistair blankly wandered at Neria's side until they had mixed back into the bustling market. She held the fur-lined cloak tight, her hood up to conceal herself and protect from the wind that was blowing, biting and humid from the sea.

"That was disappointing," he quietly said.

"To say the least." Hesitating briefly, Neria took his hand and gave the gauntlet a kiss, lips almost sticking to the chilly metal. "Ow."

It brought a smile to his lips, even as Alistair shook his head and said, "I just thought it would be different. I was so excited to see her. I... I suppose I expected the same."

"It has nothing to do with you, Alistair. People just... scrape by what living they can, and some don't make it out the other end as very good people."

"I suppose you're right," he sighed. "I'm sorry for how she treated you."

Neria stopped and smiled up at him, "It is hardly your fault. I expect it."

"I wish you didn't have to," he squeezed her hand before letting go. "Thank you for coming with me. You didn't have to take the time."

"Yes I did."

"But you didn't – just like...like you could have taken an easier route with Conner. But you didn't." Alistair led them through the market, and he paused to purchase a few things.

Neria declined the piece of cheese he bought, and he shrugged. "You do what's right...it means a lot."

"So you've said," Neria smiled softly.

"I'll pare back on the compliments then." He sighed his own smile, the piece of cheese disappearing between his lips. Mouth full, he mumbled, "You don't know what you're missing."

Waiting by the Chantry for their rendezvous, Ualan came running out of nowhere. Peering at the dog, Neria crossed her arms as a boy came running after the mabari.

"You were supposed to be keeping Morrigan out of trouble."

Ualan romped around the boy, who laughed and tried to catch him. He stopped and looked up at his mistress, while the child took a few steps back from the well-armoured pair.

"No! You can't keep him."

The mabari whimpered and turned to nudge the boy with his head, receiving a pat for his efforts before the child hurried back to his mother. Coming round, he head butted Neria in the abdomen.

"Oof. Well I know I'd just end up looking after him. Don't think I've forgotten that injured badger you dragged back to camp."

"That was not pleasant," Alistair cringed, trying not to grin as the dog looked to him with pleading eyes. Neria had healed the animal, only to have it turn on her, and tear through the entire camp with Ualan close on its heels.

Ualan grumbled dubiously, sitting on one of Neria's feet in protest.

"Hey!" Neria pushed the dog, unable to budge the muscular beast. Alistair snickered as the mabari feigned ignorance, staring off into the market blankly. "Bloody mutt."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like Morrigan."

"Oh? So she has finally gained some sense then?" The witch approached behind them, and produced a supply list. "They will be delivered to our camp at sundown."

Neria smoothed out the parchment, sighing, "Thank you... you always get us such good prices.

Ualan stood up and puffed out his chest, prancing around Morrigan's legs.

"No. Go pander to someone else." Morrigan crossed her arms and sniffed in, nose wrinkled at the unwashed scent of the masses that was ever present in Denerim. "Tis a gift. Or perhaps it has something to do with most merchants being men."

"Ew, I do not want to know," Alistair groaned.

"Ha," Morrigan fluffed the fox fur that lined the neck of her cloak.

It was a while longer before Leiliana appeared trailing the rest of their companions. Alistair and Morrigan made fine use of the time, trading veiled insults, and Neria tried not to laugh. Travelling together for months, and they still found fuel.

"Like oil and water... oh nothing," Neria accepted the book Leiliana offered, fingering through it and the pages that protruded.

"It's all been a lie. He sent us on a goose chase, which is why those cultists attacked us." The Orlesian sighed before informing the Wardens of the deception and corpse they found in the Brother's house.

Neria rubbed her fingers over her forehead, "Then take the afternoon to do as you will. Be at camp for sundown... I need time to read this. Please, please do not start any fights – or get yourselves killed, preferably?"

"Ah Warden, you keep from us all the fun." Zevran chuckled as the mage shook her head.


	20. A First

Escaping out the city gates at Alistair's side, Neria's hesitated. Under the overcast sky, the commoners jostled for position while atop the ramparts one of the regent's men shouted as he read from a scroll.

"What's going on?" Neria asked under her breath.

"You don't want to know, trust me."

Neria lingered and Alistair took her arm, when a chained man appeared before the herald. Her gasp was lost in the sounds of the crowd as the man was pushed off the wall. The rope around his neck snapped taut as his body hung, and Neria looked away.

"That is what happens to traitors of the crown. He... the man is wearing a Cousland badge."

Keeping a hand over her mouth, Neria followed Alistair to escape as another prisoner was led forward.

"I wish you hadn't seen that," Alistair sighed, "I've never understood the fascination with... executions..."

"And the Chantry allows it?"

"It is not theirs to interfere with."

Eyes down, they wove through the outer city, the day bleak, humid and windy.

"That... is us if Loghain apprehends us, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Alistair replied, before adding, "But let's not think about that. Just another reason Loghain has to pay for what he's done."

Neria nodded, hand fallen to her throat as they silently marched back to camp. Once returned, she spoke with the runners that had come from the Dalish and the Circle. The sun had set by the time she ciphered and sealed the letters for them to leave with at first light.

Sitting in the wide meeting tent, Neria opened the books and notes in her lap. They had no furniture, even the tent, able to accommodate a few standing men, was almost too much to travel with. She was holding her head up as she read, when Alistair poked in.

"So what is our next move, oh fearless leader."

Neria groaned, hand dragging over her face as she looked up from the tome. She beckoned him to sit with her. Reaching back, she snagged a large coil of leather, unfurling the map of Ferelden before them. Smoothing the edges, she detailed what she had learnt from Brother Genetivi's notes and where she believed they needed to go.

"So the exact other end of the country?"

"Yes," Neria sighed.

"At least spring is coming?"

"Not soon enough," Neria covered her mouth before asking, "Have you ever been to the mountains?"

Alistair shook his head, leaning over the map to plot the distance with a compass. He murmured, "This won't be quick... how near do you think Orzammar is to Haven?"

"I don't know," Neria replied, covering her face again. "The directions are all landmark, nothing on the map."

Conferring with the rest of the party, they outlined their movements to head for the mountain town. At sun-up, she informed the couriers destination, and they set out with her sealed letters, while Neria led them back onto the North Road. The air had warmed above freezing, melting the snow but leaving the ground muddy and cold. More often than not, they were forced into the brush when Leiliana or Zevran spied troops on the road from their forward scouting vantage.

"The more people we kill, the less there are to fight the Blight."

"Do not think they would hesitate to kill us," Morrigan chided, arms crossed over the bear fur cloak that draped over her shoulders.

Neria walked with her staff to relieve the strain on her leg, injured in a recent attack by a pack of blighted wolves. "But they might in time. Hesitate, I mean."

"Despite how I revel in a good fight, I must agree with our dear Warden," Zevran said, "She can be very persuasive."

Morrigan scoffed and fell back, morphing into a wolf to trot away – much to Ualan's amusement. The dog skirted after her.

"Maybe Zevran's not so bad," Alistair commented when he imagined Neria the only one able to hear, prompting a grin from her.

"Oh believe me, ser, I am," Zevran piped up, chuckling as Alistair rolled his eyes. "I am."

Leiliana sprinted through the brush from her scouting position, and they stopped at her whistle. She stopped before Neria, scarce winded, "Loghain's men, a large platoon. They're pillaging a farmstead not half a mile ahead."

"Maker's breath..."

"Are there no good men left?" Neria furrowed her brow. "We must help if we can."

"A platoon... is a lot of soldiers," Zevran said, regarding his fellow elf.

"Then Morrigan and I will go ahead. Wynne... if you would too. The rest of you, follow the road to meet them there."

Striding through the low brush with her fellow mages, Neria crouched at Leiliana's behest and looked down the small ridge to where the soldiers were.

"You've been expanding your command of the elements?" Neria asked Morrigan.

"Indeed," the witch replied, slipping her staff from its sling.

The door of the farmhouse finally broke, and the distance muffled the sound, as did the fog of the morn. The soldiers that entered soon emerged dragging the inhabitants and crates.

"Most likely food," Leiliana whispered.

"Women are so often a casualty of war," Wynne said, the lines her brow matched by Neria's frown.

Slipping down the hummock, they stayed low as Neria whispered their intent. Leiliana slipped along the bales that lined the fence as the mages moved into position. They could hear the soldiers and the peasants. The young girl was weeping as a hand roamed over her.

When the storm descended on them, the soldiers released their quarry, drawing weapons at the sudden shift. Snow and wind whipped their tabards, crying out in surprise. Orders were lost in the gale as ice slicked their limbs and the ground. An arrow caught one in the throat, his blood quickly freezing as it spilt and he slumped down.

The peasants scrambled to escape the cold, confused by the warmth that strengthened their limbs. Falling back against their house, they crumpled together, safe and staring at the contained snowstorm that battered the soldiers. They trembled when the first bolt of lightning crackled from the very ground itself, arrows catching those who slipped at the edges of the frozen field.

Those not fried in the tempest were pushed back towards the road, where the rest of Neria's company was waiting for them. Swords clashed, and though outnumbered, the chattering, cold soldiers were driven to their knees. Only a handful remained as the lieutenant pleaded for mercy.

Emerging through the fog, Neria and the other mages strolled back to the kneeling soldiers as Alistair, Sten and Zevran disarmed them. They were still shivering as bits of ice melted from their armour amidst blackened electrical burns.

"Y-you don't know who we are," the lieutenant shivered as Neria crossed her arms and glowered.

"Do I not?"

"We're the Regent Loghain's men, you have no right –" Zevran pushed the man forward into the mud, frowning.

"And I suppose it is your right to take anything or anyone you wish?" Neria asked.

Another one of the soldiers scoffed as his superior picked himself up, "Fresh behind them knife-ears, ey girl? This is war. It's part of our...payment."

The elven mage turned away, bristling as she closed her eyes to swallow the ire.

"They will return once we move on, Warden." Zevran said, using his blade to cut the buckle off one of the soldier's belts.

"I won't," one of the younger men chirped, his fellows glared at him, "I-I don't want to die!"

"A wise sentiment," Morrigan smirked, tucking her staff away.

"Recreant!" One of the other soldier's spat.

Eyes flicking to the mage, Zevran moved at her nod, and Neria closed her eyes as he stepped up and grabbed the soldier by his helm. Tugging his head back, the Antivan's blade split the offender's throat wide, spilling a swath of blood down the front of his mail. He choked and sputtered, drowning in the blood as his eyes went wide, and he was cast into the mud.

"Neria!" Wynne gasped.

"Go tend to the farmers," the mage replied in a snap, and her elder counterpart drifted back.

A few of the soldiers scrambled on hands and knees to escape the leak of blood, while the more seasoned veterans kept their place, eyes averted from the Warden and her companions. The man was soon dead, silenced and face down.

"Now," Neria quietly asked, blinking lengthily as she summoned her defensive auras. She felt ill, unsure if it was their actions or her own. The density of her skin faded to leave her a golden glowing ghost, "Give me your papers. I want your assurance that you will only fight darkspawn and not your fellow countrymen. That otherwise, you will quit the field – something even your master can respect."

* * *

"So," Alistair quipped as they strode in the twilight. When Neria had insisted on collecting a rare lichen from the rock beds, he had been equally persistent to join her. He hoped she remembered where they were camped, because the erratic skip of his pulse was making it very difficult to think properly.

The days through the north of Ferelden had proceeded in relatively quiet, and they had paused only an evening by the docks of Lake Calenhad to collect letters and supplies and enjoy an evening in bed, filling the rooms at the Spoiled Princess. Nearing the Tower, Neria had withdrawn, and it was only now, out amongst the foothills of the Frostbacks, that the cloud over her had lifted. It had also been some nights since they had found time together.

"What is it?" The elven mage passed back the skein of wine she had, dabbing her lips with the back of her hand as she smiled. Even though the warmth of spring had been seeping into the land, amidst the foothills the chill lingered in the breeze, and it tossed her hair. She had yet to cut it, and random braids and bits of leather tied it back from her face, helm left at camp.

Cavalier as ever, Alistair looked to the sky, his sudden interest in the emergence of the stars intense, "I noticed ... Wynne gave you lyrium again."

Stooped to scrape at the lichen with her blade, Neria's expression was concealed as she collected the powder in a small jar, "Yes... for combat. Apparently the mountains are not too safe a place. It does us no good having me mentally worn down in the midst of battle."

"Yes - yes, for combat. I know," he quipped, cringing at himself as he tried to recover, "I meant it as a good thing."

"Mm," she replied, wiping her blade on the hem of her jerkin. She kept her eyes down, weaving with careful steps till she'd found another patch. "I feel ridiculous about it mostly."

"About what?"

"The lyrium," she quietly said, crumbling the lichen in her fingers into a powder in the pot as she stood. "I - I don't like feeling like that. I know I was being... well... Thank you for ignoring it..."

"It isn't at all, you use it because you have to." Alistair said, "It makes me even more glad for my lot in life. I could have been a templar and..."

"I... I have heard some things... in the Tower, I mean."

"Ordained templars drink it, they do," he murmured, "Not really supposed to say, but - well I'm glad it never came to that. Once you drink it long enough..."

"Yes," Neria said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "They caution us again and again about using it. A terrible fate... a terrible thing for a mind."

"Here I am making things all depressing," Alistair chuckled, fidgeting as she folded the blade into the sash over her belt. He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat. "Lovely company, I am."

"You are," the mage smiled, turning to him as he found the sky again. "Now tell me, what is it? Because that was not it."

"What," his voice cracked lightly, "Of course, I followed you out here to make you feel self conscious about lyrium, or something like that."

"I see," Neria giggled, eyes to his before she searched for more lichen.

"Oooor, how about those darkspawn? Quite the campaign, hmm?"

Neria laughed, resting a hand on the large rock as she leaned over it and rubbed the lichen between her fingers, observing the texture before she asked, "Tell me something I don't know about you?"

Alistair drew an unsteady breath, fiddling with the skein of wine, "Oh...well..."

The elf stood up, tilting her head as she looked at him with concern.

"I always want to be near you."

Neria tried to restrain her smile, but it grew and she said, "You do?"

"Yes, here I thought I was being unbearably obvious, I wasn't?" Seeing her smile, Alistair stepped closer, as ever a head taller than the elf, "I - I can't imagine being without you. "

Even in the growing twilight, he could see the blush darken Neria's cheeks, and his breath stuttered out when she touched his hand. She hadn't fled, she had harkened closer to him, and even though his stomach twisted, it fuelled him, "I want to spend the night with you... in camp I mean...I wanted it to be perfect - but when will it be? We stumbled into each other, if things were perfect... this wouldn't be here... "

"Even though I'm not human?"

Alistair laughed, his free hand tentatively at her neck, fingers touching lightly over the curve of her ear. She shivered as he said, "Especially because of that."

"Are you certain?"

"I really don't want to wait anymore," he whispered, "I-I've never done... anything like this, you know that... I just...I want to be with you, while we have the chance...In case..."

Neria tightened her fingers in his hand and pressed up on her toes to kiss him. Alistair tensed, before his hand was in her hair, pulling her as much as she did him as their lips parted. Their armour clinked together, and she laughed into him, cheeks burning as their noses bumped, and her tongue flecked against his lip.

"Tent?" she whispered.

"If...would you lead? It seems to have gotten dark..." Summoning her wisp, Neria tugged Alistair's hand as they picked carefully back through the rocky landscape, and he whispered to her, "Really, I - I can just follow you, they're going to talk enough, if you know what I mean... no need to put a spotlight on us."

The hovering green wisp faded away and Neria shook her head, pulse in her throat as they came back near the fire. Sneaking at the periphery of the light, she pushed the man as they came closer to her tent.

Standing in the shadow of her tent, Neria lost her voice as they hesitated, holding hands. Though hers were clammy, Alistair scarce noticed, and dipped down as she mumbled something.

"Hmm?" He grinned, the firelight cresting the tent and making his hair glow.

"Sh...should we take off our armour?"

"See? Always thinking." Alistair flushed and undid the clasps on his plate mail. He'd done it so many times before - in front of her, in front of everyone, why was it suddenly so difficult? He'd even taken off her armour. Maker, his heart would give him no rest. He better speak to keep from thinking.

"That's why you are leading us and not me," he laughed nervously.

Neria smiled, fumbling terribly with her own armour. Kicking off the last greave into the pile, she picked it all up and tossed it into the corner of the tent before ducking inside.  
Closing his eyes, Alistair became all thumbs, failing at the attempts to divert his mind from all possible curiosities. She had been eager, right? She wanted this as much as him.

Forcing himself into the tent, Alistair sat down beside Neria, and before he could think, the elf had pulled him back into her lips. Leaning over her, thoughts fled as hands roamed, breath hitching, and they were left to the language of their bodies.

* * *

Neria's eyes flew open and Alistair's arm tightened around her, a soothing mumble in her hair. The muted light filtering through the tent said it was still some time before dawn. As the images of her nightly terrors drained away, she tried to move, but he held her.

She smiled subtly. "The watch..."

"They'll do without us," he murmured, opening an eye half-way. "Hey, you're still here."

Flushing as she rolled to face him, Neria used his arm as a pillow and whispered, "Well, it is my tent."

"Mm. It is... should I go?" Alistair opened his eyes more, cheeks flushing, but Neria placed a hand on his chest, and the tension of movement fled, "You slept a while..."

"I did...did you?"

"Enough." He could scarce see her in the low light. Had he ever felt this way? Her hair tickled his arm, and he squeezed her close, granting a lopsided kiss that he could feel made her smile.

Neria stirred and kissed him again, her hand snaking down his side, tracing the softness of his relaxed muscles. They tensed, and his sound muffled into her lips. Delighted, she repeated the motion.

"Hey," Alistair quietly laughed, pinning his lips shut.

Each on their side, they embraced and Neria fit her face into his neck, breathing deeply. Alistair caressed her pale hair, easily enveloping her elven frame in his honed arms. When she wrapped her leg around his, he could feel himself stir, hips nestled together, her small breasts mushed to his chest.

"I could get used to this," he whispered, half-lidded eyes closing as Neria kissed his neck. "Even if according to the Chantry sisters, I should have been struck by lightning by now."

"I could help make it happen if you really wanted..."

Almost laughing, Alistair's breath skipped when her body moved against his, and he murmured, "I think I'll pass..."

Tilting her head back, Neria grinned and sighed as Alistair ran his fingers through her tangled hair. "Do you imagine this is... what love is like?"

Unable to keep her candour, Alistair met Neria's eyes in the dark, thumb over her cheek. Without reservation, he whispered, "Yes."

Kissing again, Neria breathed deep as their lips parted to taste each other, her pulse skipping quicker. The blankets slipped from her shoulder as she rolled atop Alistair, an appealing grunt in his throat. She was sore, but she didn't care, there was something possessive about the ache, and when his hands touched her with such tentative adoration, it evaporated into her sigh.

"I wish we'd thought of this during winter," she murmured when they paused to catch their breath.


	21. Honnleath

Neria sat on the stone bridge, turning over the control rod in her hand as she caught her breath. Each breath she took, no matter how deep, only felt like half a gulp.

They'd donned their furs again, the slopes of the mountains still covered with snow as they approached Honnleath. It lay in the only open pass that would hopefully lead them up to Haven.

"The air is thinner," Wynne explained, leaning beside the young mage and accepting the water skein she offered. "So we need to breath more of it."

"Unpleasant," Neria murmured and pushed off the solid masonry when she saw Zevran cringe. "You should have said you were injured."

Travelling on the main road through the pass, a group of mercenaries had been waiting for them and a bloody battle had ensued. It enraged Neria to imagine how their position was being given away to Loghain. She had decided then that the attaches would return to where Bodhan was camped until they were out of the mountains. It was unknown how long they would be out of communication with the gathering army, but she deemed it necessary.

"It is nothing," Zevran chuckled, though when he sucked a breath, Neria caught him. Her hand touched over his, where he clutched his side, and slipped in the warmth of blood.

"Zev," she sighed and lowered him down, waving Wynne on as she pulled the buckles on his armour. The blood had soaked into the linen shirt, the edges furrowed and tried where it wicked.

"You need to speak up when Wynne is healing – and accept it."

Leaning his head against the stone bridge, Zevran regarded her through slit-eyes as he grinned, "Perhaps I prefer another mage's –" he gasped in again as she exposed the wound, "- healing touch."

A light flush on her cheeks, Neria murmured, "You can just ask."

"Oh? Then touch me, I beg of you."

Apples darkening as she laughed, Neria steadied a knee to cast the spell over his wound, a glowing mint mist sucking in where the skin had broke.

Zevran kept a steady gaze on her face, sighing out at the familiarity of the magic, feeling himself knit together and losing the sharp edge to the pain. "Almost gratifying."

"Uh huh." Neria unravelled some clean cloth from her things, and wetting it hastily cleaned up the blood. "You'll have to see me tonight at camp so I can do a better job. It's too exposed here."

"I do not mind so much being on display, my dear, ah-" Zevran closed his eyes as she applied the poultice, sighing out, "But if you wish me in camp, how could I resist?"

"You can put your own armour back on," Neria softly laughed, wiping her hands and putting her gloves back on.

"Alas, that is usually my fate."

A call rang from up the road, prompting Zevran and Neria to catch up. The itching tension pulled at the mage's insides as they came in sight of the village. Her eyes were drawn to the bodies hanging over the archway, and the prickle festered in her soul.

"Darkspawn," she said, sword in hand as they saw the fray.

Summoned into shimmering auras, Neria faded, ephemeral form letting a hurlock's blow pass through her. To each, they were moths to a flame, drawn with hatred to the darkspawn, just as the creatures could sense and strike at them.

It took the better part of the afternoon to search the town and eradicate the darkspawn. While Alistair led the way to root the rest out, Neria lingered at the locked tower with Wynne.

"There is undoubtedly magic here – see these markings?" Wynne passed a hand over the doorframe, and familiar Tevinter symbols glowed in response.

"They wouldn't respond to just anyone," Neria sighed, looking up the squat tower. Seeing blood on her hand, she stooped and wiped it in the snow.

Wynne chuckled, a hand on her fellow mage's shoulder, "I am always pleased with your memory, child."

Neria put her hands on the door and closed her eyes. Oh wretched whispers, you make my skin crawl, unclean and needy, "There are ... more things inside."

Watching her once student with a cautious eye, Wynne was about to speak when Zevran strolled up, spattered in blood. He produced an iron ring of keys.  
"Perhaps these may be of some use?"

* * *

"Burn the bodies, villagers and darkspawn separate. I'm sure Leiliana would say a prayer."

"And you are just going to..."

"There's a lot of knowledge in there, and Matthias patience will only hold so long to allow me there. Wilheim... was a mage of legend. If it is the same one. That there is a golem here seems too much a coincidence." Neria gathered up all her spare books as Alistair sighed. "Please, I will be fine."

"Always giving us the fun jobs."

"The privilege of leading? Shale – would you help them?"

"It expects me to handle those squishy things?"

Neria hugged her books close, "I ask if you would... Corpses attract all sorts of things. Like birds."

"Ech. Very well." The golem stomped off into the village, even its lightest footsteps thundering on the ground.

"Then let me come down with you, that place... didn't feel right." Alistair furrowed his brow.

Glancing to see the other members of their party preparing camp for night on the edge of the village, Neria took Alistair's hand and kissed it, softening the worry on his features. "I need you here as a Grey Warden. There may be more darkspawn. "

"Fine, right," he sighed, hesitating before kissing her brow. "It's been a long day. Promise you'll try and get some rest?"

"I'll try," Neria offered a tight-lipped smile.

In the basement of the tower, Neria lit the candles and assembled all the books in Wynne's company. The elder mage napped in one of the aged chairs as the elf read and copied notes into her tomes. Absorbed in the work, she hadn't noticed their assassin's presence until he spoke more earnestly to Wynne.

"Please, I only ask for a pillow to rest my head."

Slumped in the chair, Wynne sighed in exasperation, "If you do not behave, young man, you will have no one to talk to. For I will ignore you."

"Certainly I could rely on you to properly discipline me, madam?"

Wynne groaned a put a hand over her eyes, resting her head back to try and ignore the Antivan. She was more tired than she let on and feared she might sleep while Neria worked. Perhaps it was best she did.

"Neria – Neria." Wynne batted Zevran's hand away as she got up, and he grinned as the elder mage walked to the raised desk where Neria worked. "Child, I must go rest."

"Of course, rest all you need. Just make sure someone is on watch." Neria didn't lift her head as she spoke, the raven's quill twitching with her hasty writing.

"I would prefer you weren't down here alone."

"I shall see no harm comes to her," Zevran offered.

Before she could protest, Neria said, "Sleep well, Wynne."

Many of the books on the shelf had succumbed to the moist rots prevalent in Ferelden, for the stone basement had a musty air. Two rows, one of which Neria had emptied, seemed impervious to the elements.

Zevran reached for a gilded scroll, only to be shocked and unable to touch it. The curse that followed as he jerked his hand away brought soft laughter from the mage behind him, and when he turned she had paused in her writing.

"They are protected. A pity the wards on the other shelves expired."

"Charming," Zevran murmured, inspecting his hand. It throbbed with an ache that seeped up into his arm, but there was no outward damage. "So who was this mage?"

"He fought alongside King Maric," Neria murmured, looking down the spine of a book before tossing it aside and smoothing open another with a knowing word and touch. "During the occupation."

"Hmm. Rather fanciful that we came this way, then."

"Indeed," Neria's eyes were back on her writing, a methodical dip and scratch of her quill as it jaunted from pot to page. They were quiet some time before she looked up to see him leaning and watching her. A flush on her cheeks she asked, "What is it?"

"You certainly know how to handle a quill."

A blot of ink dropped on the page, and Neria snagged her knife, quickly scraping it away as she said, "Right... Shouldn't you be helping in the village?"

"Are I not protecting you from what lurks below?"

Neria twirled her quill absently, circles under her eyes as she glanced to where the wizard's champers extended deeper into the earth.

Zevran spun away, meandering to one of the nearby cages to inspect the ghastly device. "I have heard that you are quite close with your fellow Warden."

Enflamed, Neria looked back to her writing, quickly dabbing the inkwell before writing again. The blush didn't abate as she finally said, "We... we've been through a lot... and been travelling for months, of course we're close."

"The things I hear suggest something more," Zevran replied, casual as ever.

"Well what do you hear, Zevran? Is someone saying something?" Neria bridged her fingers over her brow, concealing her face as she dropped her quill in the spine of the book.

Chuckling as he sunk into the chair previously occupied by Wynne, Zevran said, "No one speaks, it is just what I hear at night."

Muted and mortified, Neria closed her eyes and covered her face as she softly uttered, "Maker's balls."

"You are far too easy to tease, my dear." Zevran dangled his legs over the arm of the chair, watching the mage with a grin. "I apologize. I am making you uncomfortable again, aren't I?"

"Yes," she whispered, hand through her hair before whimpering, "Ohh but I ... ohh Maker, everyone in camp."

"No just my elven ears, sweet Warden," the Antivan chuckled and rounded back to her.

"I'm so sorry, th-this is terrible."

Zevran knelt down and pried her hands from her face, her skin glowing red. "Trust me, it is quite beautiful. One of the better things I could hear at the night. You are enjoying yourself, yes?"

Neria closed her eyes, shaking her head as she tried not to grin, "Wh-what am I supposed to say to that!"

"Yes?" he laughed.

The mage tugged her hands back, making a frustrated sound as she blushed more. Searching for her quill she cleared her throat and tried to say, "I need to work."

Zevran snagged the dark feather and handed it to her as he stood, holding onto it a moment as her fingers passed over the barbs, "It seems quite serious between you both."

Eyes up flecking up for a moment before she took the quill, Neria quietly said, "Y-yes. I... I think it is."

"Perhaps you are right, I should return to help in the village." Zevran said with a chuckle, strolling toward the steps. Hesitating, he added, "He is a good man. The right one."

Neria watched the stairwell he disappeared into, her fatigue growing as she turned back to her tomes, filling the pages with needed notes on spells, historical oddities and links she saw between Wilheim's demonology research and her own experiences in the fade. She wrote deep through the night, blocking out the rest of the world, only pausing to shake the stiff ache from her hand.

"He's got a thing for you, you know."

Lifting her eyes from the page, Neria furrowed her brow and glanced through the room. She knew that voice. But he was in a dungeon in Redcliffe. She put her quill down and stood, when the door leading upstairs was battered in.

The vice on her heart cinched, and Neria gasped in, feeling the sudden rush of their presence, and the chant of an emissary filled her ears.

"Jowan!" she cried out, though in that moment her limbs became wound in another entrapment, a crushing tension that squeezed her ribs too. Neria tried to open her eyes, ears flooded with the clash of metal on stone, the darkspawn laughter, shouts and gargled words disorienting her.

Cold flesh had her limbs, even as another pulse rent through the cage and spasmed her muscles, the pain eating away at her mind, immolating and immobilizing. She didn't need her eyes, she could feel them all around her, living without life and blackened by sin.

Their hands were careful, pawing and wanting, and it was too dark to see as they dragged her – those screams, they were hers. Why did they sound so foreign? Ragged, her throat was going raw from it, and deeper they moved into darkness that even elven eyes could notb pierce.

She could taste it, the taint that connected her blood to theirs – was it on her tongue or in the air? Cold and slippery on her tongue, the pulse distorted the wanting song whose melody alluded her. This wasn't her hand, this wasn't her hair that was falling out, she wasn't darkened and tainted.

But there were other hands too, in places none would ever wish.

* * *

Light filtered through the canvas, and Alistair rolled, an arm over his face. He'd stayed up half the night ensuring all the corpses were burnt. When he had retired to his tent – their tent now, he thought with a grin - Neria had still been in the basement when he'd collapsed onto his bedroll.

Opening his eyes in the low morning light, he looked beside him and saw he was alone. Furrowing his brow, Alistair tossed off the woollen blanket and hastily pulled on his clothes. Emerging into the pre-dawn light, the dew on the ground clung to his boots as he identified the tents.

Sten was standing watch beside Shale, his arms crossed, and the two towering individuals spoke in quiet tones.

Rifling a hand through his hair, Alistair cleared his throat and walked up, "Um, hello. I don't suppose you two have seen Neria?"

"Is she not with you?" Sten almost sounded amused.

"No," Alistair crossed his arms in the chilly air.

"It was last seen when it requested I help with the ech, corpses. It was also present," Shale intimated.

Alistair nodded and turned towards the village, head clearing as he woke more.

"Not very pleasant," Shale said.

"Indeed." Sten agreed.

Climbing the hill into the village, Alistair saw the fires they'd set had smouldered into ash, the bodies burnt and gone. He wrinkled his nose. Approaching the mage's house, he saw the side doorway to the basement study was wide open.

Taking the stone stairs two at a time, he went into the basement, and books were scattered everywhere. One of the shelves was empty. It was silent.

"Neria?" Alistair said, holding by the stairs before moving through the room, his pulse climbing in his throat. "Neria! Oh, Maker." An apothecary's station and wide desk were raised from the rest of the room, and he finally saw her.

Touching her shoulder, Alistair saw she was shuddering, face down into an open book, and more firmly he said, "Neria."

Neria lifted her head groggily, a calligraphic carbon imprint on her cheek and a smeared page left beneath her.

"Maker, don't do that!"

"Sleep?" she asked, rubbing over her eyes teary as he embraced her.

"Not alone in creepy magical towers."

"Sorry," she said, voice caked with sleep, "They feel like home."

Alistair grumbled into her hair.


	22. Haven

The dry air was no comfort for the cold as they trekked the slopes beyond Haven, unsettled by the villagers and heavy for the lives they'd ended in the Chantry. It was an unnatural place, and the zeal that drove the townsfolk forced the outcome.

Leiliana had an arm around Brother Genetivi, helping him walk up the mountainside with the aide of a stick. Neria had healed what she could, but she feared the damage was done, and his foot might need amputation - a sentiment that Wynne had privately reflected.

The days had been running together, and they were weary in the mountain air, separated from their companions. The upper echelons of the Frostbacks were crisper than any of the winter nights, so Neria had amalgamated their gear and set off with the most devout in search of the Urn. No one back at camp would care if they found it or anything remotely similar, so there was little need to risk their lives on the icy slopes.

"Do you think this is it? That it will really be up there?" Alistair asked as they led the way up, face turning as an ice-clad temple came into view. They had almost reached the stairs, whose perilous steps wound many stories up.

"I don't know," Neria whispered, breath hanging in the air as she tried to find some warmth. Her fingers and toes were numb.

"It seems a wild goose chase, really. The ashes of the Prophet." he murmured, rubbing the frost from his growing beard.

They were buffeted into silence as a breeze came down the mountainside, stealing their breath. When it finally abated, Neria shuddered and chattered, "I thought you were not overly religious."

Alistair tried to grin, cheeks chapped pink, and his mouth lifted above the scarf, "It's hard to escape what was hammered into my head for a decade."

Neria nodded, leaning against him as they took a narrow curve in the path, to reach the threshold of the stairs. "Good thing I like you anyway."

"That's so gracious of you."  
With the stairs mounted, the puzzle key fashioned, and the icy cathedral open before them, they left Brother Genetivi at the door to study what he could and pressed into the silence.

Fighting their way through the cultists, there was little time for chatter. The zealots attacked without warning, praising Andraste's name as Neria and Alistair fought side-by-side, swords clashing. More than once, she would turn and cast a bolt from her hand, the arcane energy spilling over their bodies and disrupting the attackers. Leiliana hung by Wynne's side, precise shots pegging the men and women as the elder mage kept them all from harm.

The sweat chilled quickly under their armour as Neria fumbled with the wrappings over her gloves. Breathing shallow to prevent choking on the cold air, the mage took a fingerful of the goop from a jar before handing the warming balm to Alistair. She smeared the gelatinous ointment up her neck, relishing the unnatural heat.

Nearby Leiliana spoke as she disarmed a trap, "What are these people doing here?"

Neria shook her head, form flicking gold and translucent through her link with the Fade. It made her a ghostly presence, and she had seen some of the warriors hesitate as their swords lifted, uncertain what she was.

"That statue is of Mafereth... Andraste's husband." Wynne commented as they regained their breath. Neria had set a decaying barrel alight, and they huddled around it.

"How do we even know which way to go?" Alistair murmured, moping a cloth where he could to keep the sweat from freezing to him.

"We don't," Neria sighed, her lips blued with cold as she smiled none the less, "But do I ever?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Leiliana said, head turning as she heard a vibration through the stone. "Let's keep moving."

Wynne poised her fingers in precise configuration opposite her staff as she closed her eyes. At the whispered command, a rush of clarity and warmth pulsed through them, bolstering their spirits from the cold. Vitality renewed, they pressed through the unforgiving fortress, battling fevered cultists, drakes and their ilk.

"Why do we seem to attract these creatures that are supposed to only be a legend?" Alistair huffed as he leant against the hollowed stone passage. The scent of sulphur and exotic acids hung in the air, mingled with age and raw flesh.

"Perhaps we can yet hold out for a griffon?" Neria asked, stretching her neck as they pushed on.

"You'd like that too much I think."

"Maybe. Should we just try to raise dragons as mounts instead?"

"They seem quite keen on eating us," Leiliana added as they turned round another bend.

The passage opened into a cathedral with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were coated with ice and snow, and the daylight pouring in an unseen vantage made it all glow overly bright. The air was colder, fresher, and their breath hung visibly.

Weapon ready as she squinted, Neria tensed as a snarl reverberated off the ice, filling the space with its tremor.

"Maker, not more."

Taking defensive stances, Wynne spun her staff and fashioned a ward at her feet, its green glow almost melting the snow. "A harem of males does not bode well for us..."

A drake galloped out of the ice mist, hot on the scent of their blood. Coupled with its human guardians, the battle stayed well met as they engaged.

Sheathing her sword, Neria conjured the will deep in her belly, and the ground woke at her command, trembling to life. As everyone staggered, an orb of gyrating magical energy caught her eye. From a wide dais descended a protected sorcerer, and in her distraction the drake caught the elven mage in his jaws.

Somehow, Neria's armour didn't buckle as the beast latched on, and her scream pierced the sounds of battle. The world tipped and scrambled as he shook her, and she clutched her head. One of its teeth found a break in the armour, then another, and the deep growl in its throat as he tasted blood huffed a rotting stench out. Throttled again, Neria's body flickered solid as her concentration faltered, and her consciousness threatening to slip away. Airborne, the cold ground met her hard, and she whimpered, unable to wheeze for her injuries.

It blurred together, and it was only when another bellow from the beast rattled the icicles, that Wynne's magic rushed through her. The puncture in her lung closed and bones knitting, Neria gasped in and opened her eyes, pulse throbbing in her temples. She was in a puddle of blood - her own.

"Wait yet," Wynne's calm words stayed her from sitting up, and the elf closed her eyes, coughing up the blood in her lungs as another tingle of energy swelled in her chest.

Neria pulled her helmet off, the wrappings coming with it, and her white hair clouded her face. Rolling sideways, Wynne helped her up, leaning into each other.

"That's quite the look," Leiliana added with a nervous laugh.

Spitting another mouthful of blood out, Neria didn't speak, light-headed and aching, knowing how much worse it could have been.

"Or just go about your merry way," the bard replied.

Reaching the stairs that led to the dais, Neria caught up with Alistair as he pushed the fallen mage with his foot. The overseer's body had rolled over a sword, and he retrieved it. Flinching, he transferred the blade to his other hand before dropping it.

"Something wrong," Neria whispered, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. Looking at the blood, she casually caught Alistair's gaze.

"It doesn't feel right."

"Sure," Neria almost rolled her eyes, dark circles around them as she stooped and picked up the blade. The silverite was light in her touch, and she twirled it with a flick of her wrist.

"Feels just right."

"You don't feel the vibrations?"

Trying not to smirk, Neria leant closer to him and said, "That was probably my spell you know."

"Not what I mean. The blade - you don't feel anything?"

Arcing the blade again, a soft crackle of lightning sparked up its length, and Neria grimly smiled and offered, "Maybe."

"Tell me someday I'll get used to weird things happening about you?"

Neria chuckled, leaning her free hand on him as she began to cough, her spittle still blood red as she leant over. Wheezing heavily, she clutched her side and murmured under her breath.

"Maybe we should rest a bit," Alistair frowned.

Shaking her head, Neria righted herself despite the lance of pain that ripped up her chest. With some effort, she strapped the blade onto her back, "I need more than a bit. We keep moving."

* * *

Neria could tell one of her wounds had opened as they came through the doors into the mid-afternoon light. Clutching her side, she leant against the broken stone to try and heal herself when the earth shuddered beneath them. Eyes wide, she looked to her companions, and each fell into cover as a shadow passed over them.

A rush of air beat down, blowing the sulphurous smell from the mountainside as the high dragon swept the top of the ruins, and Neria's mouth dropped open as she cringed beside Alistair. The blood in her gauntleted hand didn't seem to matter as she shrunk inside her armour, and the roar offered by the dragon only worsened it.

They were mice hiding in the grass as the raptor swarmed, fearful, still, eyes wide and praying to be unseen.

Neria's heart panged in her chest, and she clamped her lips shut, feeling it thud, fearing it might be heard somehow as the high dragon swooped again over the ruined break in the temple. She could scarce imagine her relief when it soared to perch on the plateau overhead, settling and tucking its head away to sleep.

With its presence removed, she once more felt the trickle of blood warm in her hand, bits freezing to her armour.

"Neria, why didn't you speak? It's not healing properly," Wynne chided.

Head still against the stone, eyes to the unseen vantage where the dragon was, Neria said, "Before or when that dragon was looking for a snack?"

"I've never ... none of the dragons we've seen have even been half that size," Alistair whispered, just as stunned.

"There is so little known about them..."

Neria cringed, breathing deep as Wynne tugged the mail that covered her abdomen to try and see the wound. "It..it doesn't feel like some of the other wounds I have gotten."

"Something's eating the flesh," Wynne furrowed her brow, "Saliva perhaps? I am not sure..." She laid her hand over the reopened gash, closing her eyes as she murmured and suffused Neria with a glow, a bluish mist falling off her like sweat.

The elf choked on a gasp, nodding. "That...that is helping."

"We need to camp to examine it properly. And as much as I loathe to say it, Morrigan's knowledge of salves and herbs is needed just as much as my magic." Neria stiffly adjusted her armour, and Wynne helped her buckle it back together.

Eyes skyward to watch the dragon's perch, Neria limped across the blasted and bubbling terrain. The façade of a secondary temple was visible on the other side, directly beneath where the beast slept. Descending with slow steps, Neria paused by a gong that stood out from the ruins, its golden surface polished and tarnish free.

"You're not thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing... are you?"

Resting a hand on the hilt of her sword, Neria weakly grinned at Alistair before they crept safely to the doors of the temple. Inside it was comfortable, the biting snows forgotten in the permeating warmth that filled the passage.

An ancient guardian awaited them, patient in words and addressing their questions with a steady, unwavering gaze. Forced into reflection on their lives, seeing the lead in their souls, it was with fatigue and unease that the doors flaked dust and parted, allowing them into the Gauntlet.

Through the ghostly disciples, they learnt of Andraste's life and death, each riddle a pin that clicked in the door that blocked their way. Hearing the final drum turn, they approached as they groaned open.

"At times like this, faith becomes so much more, no?"

Moving with slow steps, Neria gazed at the door ahead, "Indeed… I had not expected to find all of this. That we might find proof – Andraste's actual earthly remains…"

They nodded in reverent silence, and Neria's eyes refocused on a familiar set of robes. Passing over the threshold into the next chamber, she found herself alone as Jowan lifted his face. Her thoughts flew to the cell she had found him in – the cell he no doubt inhabited through all these cold winter and spring months.

"Hello my friend – I can still call you that, can't I?"

Neria's hands hung at her sides, the wound in her belly ignored as it throbbed, "Of course… I did not think you would wish to, though."

"I got myself into all those messes, Neria – like I usually did." Jowan stepped closer, a hand on each of her arms, "Look at you, all gussied up. You've become so much more than I thought you would be – than I ever could be." There was a distant sorrow in his eyes.

"You were my best friend in the Tower."

"I know," he quietly said, "And you were mine. You still are my closest friend – probably my only one, too."

Blinking rapidly, a tear rolled down Neria's cheek as she looked up at the man, "I am so sorry, Jowan."

"No tears for me, silly," Jowan grinned and tugged a kerchief from his sleeve. As she wiped her cheek, he pressed something else into her free hand. "I want you to have this – it will help you in the time to come. Maybe remind you of me, too? And… and know I forgive you. I'm so proud of you, Neria. You should be too."

Eyes up as she moved to embrace her childhood friend, Neria realized Jowan was gone, and that she was alone in the stone room.

"You don't really believe him, do you?"

Neria furrowed her brow at the voice from the other side of the baffle. Emerging to see who it was, the air swirled and froze as it stirred into a blizzard. A clear path led to the middle of the gale, and Neria shuddered, shaking the ice from her limbs as she saw the ghostly figure at the eye.

"He knew something you didn't know," Her own voice cut through the wind and ice, spoken by the spectre, "He had something you couldn't attain."

Neria pulled her sword, and energy crackled up the fuller as her defences rose in a glittery hum around her, borne from the words on her lips. Soon they were mirror images of one another, phantom mages scarce impeded by the surrounding snowstorm.

"He dissuaded the other apprentices, all the while remaining completely oblivious to you."

"Shut up," Neria snapped, stepping in with a wide swing. She easily countered herself, swords clashing, and soon they circled each other once more.

"It did not matter that you heard whispers – exotic, elven beauty, your intelligence, ohh and Cullen's ever searching eyes –"

Neria frowned and jabbed at the spirit, finding bloodless purchase. Light laughter was torn away by the storm – did she sound that way?

"Oh Cullen, the things I could say. But no… this is about Jowan. That you were never good enough, and you damned him – damned the only one who could stand your scathing words and antisocial demeanour." The spirit dodged a swing, only to be caught by an arcane bolt. Relaxing its sword, the spirit conjured a rock to send back and Neria cried in pain as it hit, abdominal injury aggravated. "Forsaking your closest friend. Imprisoning the woman he loved."

"He should have known better – they both should have! They weren't – aren't ch-children," Neria's armour clung where her skin touched it, freezing to her. Warmth seeped where the drake had bit, the wound reopened. Crying in frustration and pain, she landed a few more blows against the spirit, wheezing as she parried out of the way.

"Isn't that just it? Shouldn't you know better too?" Their swords met in a stalemate, and Neria pushed off, readying a defensive stance. "They will make him –" The spirit's voice wavered as the elf cast a spell, and the ground glowed red at its feet as the word surged to life. "You should know better."

"I don't care," Neria hissed, face flushed as she tightened her grip, "I love him."

"I imagine that's what they said."

The armoured mage twirled and cut the final blow through the neck of her mirrored self. The blizzard evaporated, as did the incorporeal presence, leaving her panting and alone. Leaning forward, her eyes focused and saw the picked bones of others who had fallen there, lit by the even glow of the burning wall sconces.

The doors opened to reveal her companions waiting with heavy eyes, faces drawn from their own trials. Neria sheathed her sword, gaze downcast as she joined them. They spoke little more than was needed, and it was through their joint efforts that a bridge appeared over the chasm and allowed them to cross.

An obscuring fire lit the end of the passage, though the air didn't smell of smoke. Walking through the bones and rusted weapons of pilgrims gone past, they came to an altar. Neria leant her weight on it, touching where the blood seeped through her mail.

"It won't heal," she whispered, lightheaded and closing her eyes.

"There… do you see it? We… we are so close…" Leiliana pointed over the flames, where there was an enshrined golden vessel.

"Do you want me to tend it? My magic has done little so far…" Wynne gave Neria a fretful glance.

"No… no it has only been a temporary solution." The elf sighed and looked at Alistair, his concern evident. "Let us find a way across." Reading over the inscription on the altar, she gingerly began unbuckling her armour.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Neria lay her helmet down, cringing as she moved, "We must leave everything here… I do not think the fire will harm us if we do."

"Of course," Leiliana replied, stripping her bow and quiver before moving on to other bits, "That we might be purified by the flames, as our Prophet was before us."

"Oh…" Alistair's cheeks grew enflamed as the three women in his company more fully disrobed. "Maybe I should turn around? A-and stay here? It…um."

"Alistair… this is the cornerstone of our faith, don't you wish to see it?" Wynne asked, gathering up the hem of her robes. "I assure you, dear, there is nothing you have that we haven't seen. And vice versus I might say." The elderly mage grinned as Neria sighed, blushing herself.

Down into her small clothes, Leiliana crossed her arms to maintain some modesty, "Just be glad Zevran isn't here." She turned to help Neria out of her last garments, gasping at the weeping wound down her side. "Ohh…"

Neria shook her head, still flushed as she tried to cover herself somehow, muttering, "Please, if we don't think about it, it shouldn't hurt – right?"

" _Cherie_ , it looks… oh Neria…" Leiliana's gaze strayed as Alistair hurriedly clumped his armour into a pile, pulling his shirt off to add on top. "I must say I approve… wholeheartedly."

"Hey!" Alistair waved her and Wynne away, and they both turned with a soft laugh. His pout distorted to a frown as he saw the rivulet of red leaking down Neria's thigh. The mage cupped a hand over it, whispering a soft spell to close the skin, leaving the smear of blood behind. She forced a reassuring smile. "You alright?"

"Yes," Neria tightened her grin, tears threatening as she kept a hand over the injury for her own comfort. Her eyes dropped as he pulled off his breeches, and she turned towards the flames as her cheeks burned.

Walking through the meter-wide swath of fire, it immolated each, embracing like a warm bath and leaving their skin cleansed of blood and tingling. Neria softly gasped, feeling the fire alight through her body, the sensation not wholly different from magic. When she moved her hand, the blood had become ash, and the shadow beneath her skin had fled, leaving only a subdued scar in its place.

"It's gone," she whispered, prodding the spot in disbelief. The burning, burrowing pain was gone.

"And so you have faced your trials. You have been purified and cleansed by the holy fire, just as our beloved prophet Andraste was so many centuries ago. You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims..."


	23. Orzammar

They travelled through the night to avoid unnecessary altercations in the village, rejuvenated by their verified faith. Leiliana spoke of her reaffirmation in the Maker, and His hand in guiding them – that had He not wished them to defeat the Blight, to heal Arl Eamon and dethrone Loghain, He would not have allowed them the blessing of His bride's ashes.

The sun had set the next day when they finally reached camp, and Neria's spellwisp drifted back to her from where she'd sent it ahead as a sign of their approach. Shale grumbled something as she walked by, and Zevran rose from the fire.

"You have returned – and limbs intact at that." When Neria raised her brow, he continued, "We saw a dragon on the western slopes. I am glad to see you were not part of its meal."

"No…it's there," she murmured, sagging with fatigue as they stopped walking. "It will be none to pleased when it learns we slew its harem and brood."

"Harem, you say," the Antivan replied with a grin, "Perhaps I should have joined you."

Features relaxing, Neria shook her head and smiled, "If only you'd known?"

"Indeed, I feel the loss greatly," he sighed.

"The watch is planned?"

"It is. You have the night to yourself – or with whomever you choose."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Neria nervously laughed, kicking some dirt at the fire as she looked down. Leaning closer, Zevran whispered something more and her hand cupped over her mouth to stifle the laugh as she blushed.

Across the camp, Alistair knelt to steady the peg as Leiliana hastily raised her tent, his eyes on Neria with Zevran.

"Alistair!" Leiliana loudly whispered.

The man turned his head in surprise, and saw Leiliana struggling. He rose and put a hand where needed.

"Thank you…you know you aren't much help at all."

"Sorry…" Alistair murmured, glancing back to see Neria shake her head, a tired smile on the elf's lips as she conversed with the assassin. "Why can't I escape feeling like I shouldn't trust Zevran with Neria."

Smile hidden, Leiliana replied, "Because he's the son of a whore?"

"Wh-what? That's a terrible thing to say!" Alistair paused before sighing, "Even if it's true." Leiliana lightly laughed as they finished and he mumbled, "Right, forget I said anything."

Neria put a hand over her eyes, apples burning as she blurted, "Okay enough, Zev – I need to sleep." They looked at each other and both laughed. The elven mage touched his arm and said, "Thank you... see you in the morning."

Behind their tent, Neria found Alistair and she smiled, "Help me with my armour?" The man's eyes stayed on his hands as together they unbuckled the veridium pieces. "You alright?"

"You spend a lot of time with him."

"I spend a lot of time with everyone, Alistair."

"Hmm," he dropped his hands as Neria unbuckled his breastplate.

"I've known very few elves..."

Neria watched him as she continued to help remove his armour, until he was down in simple linens. The days it'd taken to find the Urn had been long with little sleep. Picking up her suit, she ducked into the tent, sitting on her knees. Alistair soon followed, still moping. Running her hands up his neck, Neria slipped into Alistair's lap, straddling him and forcing him to lie down. He sighed, the dubious expression fading as he hugged her.

"I... I know this sounds ridiculous, but there – I mean, there's nothing between you two... right?"

"He's a friend, nothing more."

"The way he looks at you sometimes..."

Kissing Alistair's cheek, Neria ran a hand through his hair, "I am unable to keep people from looking at me."

"I know..." he closed his eyes, hands tightening in her jerkin as she kissed over his neck, slow plucks that tugged his skin, "Maker..."

"Who stays with me in my tent, anyway?" She whispered, and could feel the muscles tighten under her lips as he smiled.

"I hope no one else has been sneaking in," Alistair murmured.

"Only Sten."

"What?"

Neria lifted her head, resting it in her hand, "You are too much fun to tease." Chewing at her lip to repress a grin, she whispered, "Besides, he's no templar."

Blocked from reply by a kiss, Alistair tugged her jerkin off and started to undo her chemise as he was allowed to speak, "Not a templar."

"Please," she whimpered, grinding in reply, and her laugh was subdued as Alistair rolled to pin her down. "You should know it is a fanciful dream of young mages – did not teach you that in the abbey?"

"Perhaps they did," Alistair squirmed as Neria ran her hands under his shirt, sitting up so she could pull it off. "Maybe being told how I should not succumb to a mage's wiles makes you all the more appealing?" Tickling her with the fuzz on his chin, he grinned at her clipped giggle. "What's that? The Chantry says you're bad for me? Well... must try then..."

Wrestling off their trousers and small clothes, Alistair pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, leaning over Neria again.

"So it's because I'm a mage?"

"I am completely ensorcelled." Neria laid her head back, smiling as Alistair traced over her abdomen, detailing the uneven skin of her new scar. Lips catching her elongated ear, he whispered, "Don't forget this. An elf too, entirely irresistible."

"How could I not yield?"

Neria closed her eyes as they kissed, and parted lips deepened their playful passion, leaving words behind. The light was barely enough for Alistair to see, and the bedroll warmed as their bodies urged together. When she touched him, hard and ready, he sighed her name, lips falling over her cheek.

Running his hand up hand up her thigh, Alistair opened his eyes as Neria clasped his cheek. She could see the flush on his skin, eyes dilated and lips redden from their kisses. He draped her leg around him, kissing her hand.

"I don't love anyone else, you know." Neria whispered, his stubble scraping her palm. "Just you."

Resting on his elbow, Alistair brushed the pale locks from Neria's forehead. "You do?" He licked his lips, searching her face before murmuring, "No, of course you do...I mean, I love you too..."

Closing her eyes in the dying fire light that made the walls of the tent subtly glow, Neria kissed Alistair, and he breathed deep as she touched him once more, intimately guiding him to her with a sigh.

* * *

It was raining in the valley where they left camp and turned to Orzammar, though the slopes leading up to the wide stone entrance to the dwarven world were covered with snow. They rendezvoused with the gathering envoys, taking but a night to address missives and monitor the amassing army.

However much Neria wanted to cater to Alistair's request and turn for Redcliffe with the ashes, Orzammar was on the road through the mountains back to the Imperial Highway.

"It will take weeks to go and come back, Alistair." Neria's cloak clung to her body, and her armour squeaked where the leather padding was wet. "I know you're concerned about the Arl... it will be alright."

The man sighed and hung his head, trudging along the muddy road alongside her. They were moving slowly, cold and wet on the mountainside.

"He is ever in my prayers," Leiliana reassured him as they paused at an overpass, looking over the peaks to catch their breath before moving on. "The Maker will not take our greatest ally, I am sure of it."

"Er, thank you."

Ualan trotted beside them, the only one in any positive spirit. He was covered in mud and happily so. Morrigan's voice rang out as the dog got her attention, swaggering and pawing at her and muddying her clothing.

Met at the gates by Loghain's men, a brief altercation would dispatch them and grant Neria and her company entrance to Orzammar. Descending deep into the roots of the mountain, their clothing still clung to them damply as the air dried and grew oppressive. The elven mage seemed the only one comfortable, accustomed to a life without windows, without air, and without sky.

Through the Hall of Paragons and evading the political strife in the streets, they stood and gaped over the lake of lava that heated the cavern and the air. Dry for the first time in days and relishing the warmth, Neria couldn't have know how long it would be till she felt the spring breeze on her skin again.

* * *

The crowd was on their feet as Neria raised a hand, her magical auras buffeting to nothingness as the final Proving battle was laid to waste. Two dwarven men and Alistair stood with her as their unconscious opponents were dragged from the field. The announcer declared their victory and each bowed before bee lining for the combatants exit.

Gwidden and Baizyl engaged in chatter as Neria finally let herself limp. One of the hammer blows from Piotin had nearly shattered her knee. Alistair caught her arm.

"It was an honour to fight with the Grey Wardens," Gwiddon bowed his head, clapping Baizyl's arm. "Hopefully you will join us at the taps? An Ancestor's victory such as this cannot be without drink."

"We just may, though do not wait on my account."

Kind eyes meeting hers, Baizyl bowed and added, "I look forward to seeing you there. Thank you again, Warden."

The cheering cut off as the doors swung shut behind them, their dwarven allies marching off to the main concourse. Leaning more heavily into Alistair, Neria sighed.

"That looked like quite the hit."

"Oh it was," she murmured as he helped her a few more feet to sit down on one of the benches. "Believe me."

"Let me help you with a poultice. At least until you can heal it better."

The staging rooms were filled with dwarves talking about the competition, and they gave the pair a wide berth as Alistair eased the pieces of armour off her leg. When the strap around her thigh loosed, Neria sucked a breath and leaned back against the wall, blood rushing into the wound.

"That bad, hey?"

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes as they teared. They had fought the bouts in succession with scarce half an hour rest between. While their competition came at them clean and clear, the surmounting fights had exhausted Neria.

"It was very odd watching you fight alone." Alistair sounded closer. Neria opened one eye

and he smiled. "Very intimidating."

"Not for you, surely?" Neria couldn't help but smile, thought it faded as her body jolted from the pain as she was exposed to mid-thigh. "Maker..."

Alistair frowned, laying out the bandages from his pack, taking a moment to murmur, "Not pleasant."

"I noticed, thank you."

"Sorry."

Sweat still on her brow, Neria rolled her head to look at the deeply bruised and bloodied knee. She'd been able to close the skin, it was just barely holding together. "I shouldn't have put weight on it."

"Can you straighten it more?"

Neria groaned and knocked her head back against the wall, feeling the tendons swell and inhibit her motion. More tears swelled in her eyes. Clenching her teeth she put her foot onto Alistair's knee, and he nestled the wrap of herbs against her skin before bandaging her leg immobile.

"You are not as callow as I imagined."

"See Warden? You even impress our gargantuan warrior friend."

"You are not my friend."

"Indeed."

Opening her eyes, Neria saw the rest of their companions approach, and she had to issue a command to stop Ualan from coming too close in his zeal. "Where is Wynne?"

"With Leiliana helping some box-brained dwarf." Morrigan tersely replied.

"Just my luck," she cringing as Alistair adjusted her foot. Neria's eyes turned to Sten, "Thank you."

"Pashaara. When do we return to the surface Blight?"

"When I have my dwarven allies. They are most familiar with the -" Neria twitched, closing her eyes briefly as Alistair apologized and tugged her stocking back down. She leant forward, more able now to feel the bruising from the fight as she helped him put the greave on. " - the darkspawn. Of any, I think they will be the most valuable."

Sten grumbled and looked back through the staging grounds. He held back further opinions of their actions and the dwarves.

"I think it's the right move," Alistair added as he rose, wiping a cloth over his face and neck to clear away the blood spatter.

"Let us return to Dulin and see if Lord Harrowmont will finally see us," Neria sighed and took Alistair's offered hand to pull herself up, testing her weight before saying to him. "It's better some, thank you."

Conferring with Dulin in a private room the Tapsters, a meeting time was set up later that day - though to Neria and her companions, there seemed little way to differentiate a diurnal cycle apart form activity in the market. The tavern only closed for a few hours each night.

Gwidden and Baizyl were in the back corner with a few other dwarves, and before they could spot Neria, some patrons from the Proving stood up and cheered her victory. One in particular, with a braided red beard, stood by the bar and raised a tankard to her.

"That was quite the fight there, don't often see magic like that in the Proving grounds." Smacking the flagon down, the dwarf ordered drinks for them and leant closer to Neria as she politely remained, "Now what's a warrior like me need to get a private spar with a pretty thing like you."

Neria made a sound and took a step back, standing flush against Alistair. Colour rising on her cheeks, she debated putting the gifted flagon of lichen ale down. She could see Zevran grin in her periphery. "I'm afraid I've already got a sparring partner."

"Oh I'm not asking for eheh, anything exclusive, but dontcha need to practise with exotic and," the dwarf waggled his bushy brow, "varied partners to really hone your skills?"

Jaw dropping, Neria blushed more darkly and Alistair was about to speak when Baizyl caught her hand.

"This way, my lady. We're at the back." Baizyl shot the red-haired dwarf a scathing glance. "Pay no heed to the rabble."

* * *

Lying in the stunted bed, Neria's eyes tore away from the glowing lyrium crystals mounted in the wall as Alistair countered.

"I am not letting you go into the roads alone."

They'd been in the dwarven city a week, the past night spent in the comfort of Harrowmont's estate. The Tapster had been glad to see them clear out, though the beds here weren't any better. Just barely long enough for her, but poor Sten.

The elven mage caressed her thumb over Alistair's hand. Another two tasks had come before them. It seemed they would not gain their dwarven allies unless Orzammar had a king. And if Harrowmont were to become king, he wished the carta in Dust Town erased and... Maker, a Paragon recovered from the Deep Roads.

"We are the only Wardens in Ferelden, Alistair. If we both fall..."

Alistair wrapped his arm around Neria and pulled her close. His feet were propped up on the stone footboard, the bed terminating just above his ankles. "And how is that any different than every other battle we go into?"

Burying her face against Alistair's chest, Neria breathed in the scent of his body before saying, "I want to take as few as possible. There will be too many darkspawn." Her fingers tightened in his shirt, "I can feel them. Can't you."

Alistair fingered her pale hair and dryly chuckled, "Yes. Why do you think I'm up?"

"I was dreaming of the archdemon again."

"It often seems that you are... dreaming."

Feeling his lips press atop her brow, Neria closed her eyes again, "It and the horde. Things they do."

"Coming here my dreams have resurfaced," Alistair murmured, eyes distant, "We're closer to something, aren't we? Maker, I didn't miss them..."

Kissing the curve of his jaw, Alistair's expression loosed, and they turned into each other.

"Alright. I had not really wanted to go into the deep without you." Alistair smiled as Neria touched her nose to his, and she shivered into him as he traced the curve of her ear. She murmured, "You knew you'd get your way."

"Maybe."

"I cannot imagine losing you," Neria whispered, eyes closing as he kissed her cheek and wrapped her more fully in his arms.

"We've come this far. You don't have to be afraid."

"Yes I do," she whispered. Alistair lifted his head to watch her as she continued, "Why would I be afraid unless I had hope. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose what we've found... so yes... I am afraid."

Expression crushing, Alistair brushed the hair back from Neria's face and was about to speak when the bed shook under the weight of Ualan jumping up with them. They broke from the intimate moment as the mabari wormed his way between them.

"Mm all clean, so you think you can butt in?" Neria laughed, and the hound licked her face. "You are very heavy, Ualan."

Alistair ruffled over the hound's ears, and the mabari lay back into Neria, eliciting a squeak and another laugh, drawing the man to smile. "Yes, I know, we have to share."

"I'm betting Wynne threw you out of their room," Neria said, and the hound put a paw over his face, quietly whimpering. She smiled and wrapped her arm around the dog's muscular chest, resting her cheek on his neck. "Uh huh. See, you let her wash you and you can snuggle with us. Is that so bad?"

Ualan whimpered more audibly in a small yowl.

"For someone who could bite my hand off, you are one big baby."

The mabari quietly woofed at Alistair, head flopping down on their pillows and tongue lolling out. Grinning, the ex-templar roughly rubbed the dog's belly, much to its enjoyment.

"You'll come too." Neria said, kissing the dog's neck before resting her head there and looking at Alistair. "You're up for protecting us in the Deep Roads, Ualan?"

The hound grumbled, and Alistair chuckled as Neria pulled at the loose skin by Ualan's collar.

"Yes, you have to. Us war veterans need to stick together."

* * *

Wynne pressed the extra pack into her hands, and Neria slung it over her shoulder as the elder mage touched her cheek.

"I am not comfortable with this."

"We'll be back as soon as we can. You need to take care of the others and ensure the Jarvia abandons her plans with the carta."

Sighing, Wynne rest her hand down on Ualan's head as the dog whimpered.

"I know, but you need to let that heal."

The mabari grumbled and bent his head to lick at the poultice wrapped around his hindquarter. The leg had broken, a messy compound fracture, when they'd been jumped by some of Bhelen's supporters in the streets.

Shale gave an aggravated sigh, "Let me carry its things. There may as well be some use in my following you."

"You don't have to, Shale."

"Just do not ask me for a ride." The golem took the bags by the straps, and they dangled from its arm as though they weighed nothing. They carried with them extra supplies and as much water as possible. "I would hate to have to squish it."

"You should bring more of us with you." Leiliana furrowed her brow.

Neria shook her head, turning as Alistair got her attention and pulled the final straps on her armour. Checking his, she said, "No. It is too much of a risk. There are too many darkspawn. Sten will lead you to through Dust Town."

The qunari was standing by the door as Neria strode by with Alistair and Shale.

"Try not to get anyone killed?"

Sten grunted and crossed his arms, regarding the elf as she smirked and turned away.

"Lord Harrowmont maintains that you may stay in these rooms until we return."

"And we shall wait with bated breath, dear Warden." Though Zevran smiled, a veil over his concern.

Through the Diamond Quarter, they slipped down past the merchants, hesitating before the guards to the Deep Roads as they double checked their supplies. They had no idea how long they would be in the roads, and there would be nowhere known to resupply.

"Thank you for coming, Shale."

"It seemed the appropriate thing to do. " The golem was immobile as the fleshy beings prepared, "There are no birds underground from what I am told. I imagine it to be quite pleasant."

Neria grinned, though when she saw a dwarf approaching them the expression soured.

"You're the Grey Warden, aren't you?"

It was the dwarf from Tapsters. Alistair stepped up beside her, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword and almost twice as tall as the stocky dwarf that approached.

"I am. What do you want? This is no tavern, I will have fewer social graces for your... solicitations out of the public eye."

"My what?" The dwarf laughed and waved a hand before saying. "The name's Oghren - I hear you're headed into the Deep Roads, and well, I thought you could use a guide to find Branka. Since she's my wife, and all, I might have some idea where she is."

Unable to conceal her disbelief, Neria said, "You have a wife?"


	24. The Deep Roads

Sitting in the dark, Neria gazed down the tunnel, its water-slick walls illuminated by iridescent moss. She couldn't tell how long they'd been in the Deep Roads tracing the trail of the Paragon Branka, or if the smith was even alive. Though Shale took the watches, they got little sleep.

At least she and Alistair didn't - their uncouth dwarven companion was wide-mouthed and snoring. Behind them, Shale's glittering gems barely provided enough light for Alistair's weaker human eyes.

Whenever Neria closed her eyes, they were waiting for her. The first few nights it hadn't been so bad, but the deeper they travelled, the more vivid and thunderous the visions had become. She swore she could hear it in the dark, even now when she was awake. It brought relief when Alistair sighed beside her.

"Neria?"

"I'm awake," she whispered. Neria turned her head as his hand smacked around, and she put her fingers in the way. His grip tightened on them.

"You'd think it being so dark that I could get any sleep."

"You're used to fresh air. I'm the one who should be used to being walled in by stone."

Alistair tugged her hand and Neria shuffled closer. They were still in the majority of their armour, unwilling to risk its removal anymore. Darkspawn had already raided their mobile camp twice, drawn to the Wardens by their tainted connection. The air was stagnant and hot with the familiar smell.

Summoning her spellwisp, the green orb hovered over Neria's head and cast their faces with a sickly pallor. The faint light exacerbated the rings under their eyes and lent her braided, pale hair a luminous quality.

"I'm glad you're here," she softly said, "Even if you smell."

Alistair squeezed her as he squinted, "Just thought I'd do my best to remind you of Ualan," he sniffed and coughed subtly. "Or maybe you're filling the roll of unwashed dog."

Neria pushed him and Alistair's expression lightened despite his fatigue as she grinned.

"It may wish to relinquish its grip on the templar and come investigate. There is a sound in the dark."

Blushing, Neria glanced at Alistair before standing and joining the golem, listening through the widening passage. The elf rest her hands on the back of her hips, stretching as she heard the clicking missed before. She could hear the shuffle of Alistair's armour behind her as he stood, and Neria strode further into the passage.

The chattering clicks crescendoed and clipped away as Neria dispelled her wisp, tilting her ear towards the darkness. A quiet chitter overhead drew her attention, and as a clot of webbing snared her limbs, Neria screamed.

Alistair drew his sword, hampered in the low light. Oghren bolted from where he slept as Shale stomped into the cluster of spiders that surrounded Neria. Her sounds cut away as another swath of webbing snagged and hauled her off her feet.

The skitter of arachnid limbs the size of her arm and clacking mandibles shears fuddled Neria's senses as she fought the tough silk threatening to encase her. Her fingers stuck in the netting of threads, and she kicked as she was dragged some feet away, screaming again.

Fire licked into the air and illuminated the scene as Shale punched through a number of spiders, the crystals on its arms burning with fervour all their own. It gave Alistair barely enough light to see, and he stabbed through the hard carapace of one of the spiders, and it shrieked in reply. Immediately another spider leapt knocked him down, slathering poison as its mandibles clacked against his armour.

Roaring to life, Oghren's hammer battered the spider off Alistair with a resounding crack, and fluids sluiced from its body as it expired and flew.

"Come on, boy!" The dwarf goaded, stepping further to follow the glow of the golem and swipe through the aggressive spiders with glee.

The flames from Shale's crystals caught and with a sudden whoosh, the cavern came alight as the webs burned and revealed the spiders waiting in the wings.

"Maker help us," Alistair groaned as he gained his balance and knocked one of the arachnids back with his shield. A shiver went through him as he heard Neria scream, and he turned towards the sound, hacking through another set of gangly, insectoid limbs.

Tugging her hands free, Neria scrambled as the web trapping her burnt and singed the edges of her clothes. The moment she could, she conjured a spell that wrapped herself in a chilly fog. The cold bit at her skin, and she was left on the ground as crystals formed up her limbs – but the webs were out, and the spiders were distracted by the aggression of her companions.

Alistair collapsed as one of the spiders circumvented his armour, sharp jaws almost severing his arm. Under the fountain of blood, he blacked out, leaving Oghren and Shale to chase the last spiders away.

Melted from her own icy cage, Neria scrambled to her feet, panting for air as her body convulsed.

"That sure ain't pretty," Oghren murmured, standing by Alistair.

Neria nearly threw the dwarf out of the way as she fell to her knees by Alistair. He was losing a lot of blood. "Get my pack."

In a moment, she whispered a healing wash over him, and Alistair groaned as the flesh started knitting together, a subtle glow over his body. "Do I still have an arm?"

"Yes."

"That's attached?"

"Yes," she whispered hurriedly, taking her bag from Oghren and throwing through it to pull out a curved needle and her surgical thread.

"Doesn't quite feel like it -"

Unbuckling his pauldron with a knowing hand, Neria unlaced the leather under armour and Alistair sucked a breath in.

"That's no good, nope, no," he groaned, almost rolling, but topped when she put a hand on his chest.

"Just stay still, I am doing all I can."

"And if that's not enough, I've always got a spot of ale here," Oghren added, leaning on his hammer as he looked down at Alistair's pale features. "At least for now, who knows how long that'll last heh."

Neria sterilized the needle with a flame on her fingertips and started to stitch the wide split in his shoulder shut, drawing a loud curse from Alistair as he ground his teeth.

* * *

Trudging in the perpetual twilight, Neria led them in silence through the crumbling passages, the walls slick with inky blackness that she could feel was tainted. It sucked at her soul, and the dark bags under her eyes had deepened, the fatigue reflected in Alistair's face. It aged him more than she liked, the joking young man fled to be replaced by a grime warrior that was thinning away.

Did she look like that? Her ribs had exposed themselves as they rationed their food, limiting their water intake to bare necessity. From their maps and Oghren's half-assed interpretations, they should be nearing the Deep Trenches.

The itch had been growing with each step, and exchanging glances with Alistair, Neria's pace quickened. There was something gnawing at the untouchable reaches of her soul, urging them forward and giving life to her limbs.

"What's the hurry, boss?" Oghren said, "These stubby legs can't keep up, you know."

Shale grunted, easily keeping steady stride, "Do not look at me, dwarf."

"You feel it, don't you," Alistair emptily said.

"Stronger than it's ever been," Neria whispered. It was worse than her dreams, insidious and chilling through each vein, and tugging her faster. It mingled with more sounds outside of her.

Golden and faded, Neria strode into the opening of the cavern, feeling the pulse of the horde. As much as the march of innumerable feet that echoed up, the sheer number of darkspawn she could sense was overwhelming. She was standing downstream of a breaking dam.

"Farkin' nug-humpers, what's that smell?" Oghren snarfed and spat on the rock beside him. Shale made a displeased sound.

Neria stood by Alistair near a precipice, pale as her insides seemed to shred. Their eyes didn't meet, able to feel it coming.

"Alistair?" Neria's voice wavered, tired eyes looking down to see what she felt in every fibre.

They had reached the Deep Trenches, and there in the canyon marched the darkspawn horde to war. So many were their numbers that the oddity of two Grey Wardens nearby was lost in the crush. Lit torches guided their ranks, and from a distance it became a sea of burning stars, a sky in the deep suffering a great calamity.

Then the roar in their minds filled the air, and Oghren stumbled back as the massive dragon swooped from the subterranean crevice into the wide cavern. Though its call filled Neria's ears, inside the discordant song grated on her, slipping down a slope towards a cliff with no handholds. She looked at Alistair, his face aghast and pale as her.

Landing on the stone bridge over the chasm, the archdemon towered above its minions, and another splitting roar filled the expanse. When its maw smacked, a whoosh and crackle reverberated off the rock, and they fell to their knees in terror, cowering behind a broken stone ledge. The walls flickered with mottled light as black and indigo flames erupted from its mouth, a threat and crack of whip to the marching army below.

What if it knew, what if it felt them? Neria trembled, tears down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. Hands over her ears, nothing blocked out the possessive roar that bellowed through her. Crouched in a ball, she shut her eyes and grit her teeth to keep from sprinting to the beast. The weakness and enthrall tugged away, the weight on her chest abating, and Neria rasped.

Looking up, the fleeting form of the archdemon flapped out of the cavern towards a distant glow. The horde was moving with it, leaving her senses trampled. Neria's unfocused eyes eventually found Alistair, and they realized the sound of battle was clanging off the stone.

Standing on jelly legs, Neria saw Oghren and Shale charging to aide a clot of dwarves battling darkspawn. She could feel them again, defined entities that roused a hatred and disgust. Heavy hands drew swords, and the two Wardens dashed to their purpose and duty.

* * *

Neria's sword hung down, dripping with the murky, cold blood of darkspawn. The passage they wandered through was clung with rotting body parts and fleshy sacs, the scent of which permeated the air. She repressed the urge to gag. Unable to walk anymore, she collapsed against the wall, trembling.

"Neria," Alistair was at her side, even as Shale groaned and strode down the passage to watch for anymore darkspawn.

"That – that will be me," the elf looked at him with wide eyes, her armour soaked with blood and sweat. Behind them lay the behemoth corpse of a dwarven broodmother, her layered breasts and tentacles sagging and split open by their assault. Fed their brethren, the women captured from Branka's expedition had been transformed into a monstrosity unlike anything she'd ever dreamed.

Unlike anything Neria ever wished to see.

"No – no you won't, Neria."

Oghren kept his distance, sobered into silence at seeing his wife's house reduced to madness, claimed by the taint.

Her stomach churning, Neria groped at Alistair as she stayed on the ground, "You're right. I – I'm an elf." Her eyes went wide and she almost pulled him down, "The shrieks have ears like mine, don't they. Nimble, slender, smaller. That – they'll be my children, Alistair. The only children I'll ever have." Her breath glupped and she began to hyperventilate as she collapsed onto all fours.

Ashen, Alistair tried to pull her close, but she pushed him away and retched on the ground. The taste of bile burnt her lips, stomach empty. Since they had reached the Trenches there had been no time to rest, no time to eat, the press of the darkspawn horde almost continuous.

"Th-that's why there aren't many female Grey Wardens, it has to be," she cried, pulling her helmet off and smearing a hand over her face. "This is what we become. W-we become what we hate. What we live t-to destroy!"

Alistair knelt beside her, eyes pained as he hovered, unsure what to say or do.

"Maker, we are forsaken," Leaning forward, Neria sobbed and shuddered, almost lowering her forehead to the ground. This was worse than the rest. Seeing her fate, blubber and taint filled to the brim. A barren life leading to a sick fertile end.

Down the passage Shale muttered just out of hearing, no doubt about the failings of the flesh and superiority of its own stoic, stone existence. Oghren crossed his arms, dubious and quiet as he stood at the opposite side of the passage from the golem, Alistair and Neria behind them.

"Neria, it won't come to that. It has to be different for Wardens, else why would they accept women at all?"

Shaking her head, Neria looked up, face drawn, "What if they don't know? Wouldn't Duncan know?" She pawed at Alistair again, her voice shaking, "Promise me, Alistair."

"You know I'd do anything," he whispered.

"Promise me you'll be here. Be here w-with me when we have to come back."

"I -" Alistair 's lips gawped, and his eyes creased, "There is still the war, there is so much."

"I don't want to be here alone. Light of the Maker, not ever," she trembled and tried to pull herself up, only crumpling further, "I cannot become that! It cannot end that way!"

Neria looked back from where they'd come, their footprints marked in blood and taint. It seemed a sentiment on their entire journey together. A trail that followed them all over Ferelden, the dead left in their wake.

"I-it's not fair, Alistair. All we must do, all that we've seen - a-and we'll die down here. That I would become..."

A sliver of smoke escaped from where they'd set the lair ablaze. She was so glad she couldn't smell anymore, her nose plugged and senses numbed.

Alistair picked Neria up, holding her shoulders as he whispered, "Think about what you're doing. Of all the good you've done. All the people you've saved. You've done so much – and will do so much more."

"We."

Alistair raised his brow, testing to see if she'd stand on her own as he let go.

Neria looked up to him, pulled from the pit of her thoughts. "We've done it. It is not just me."

Expression softening, Alistair's shoulders slumped as he looked at her.

"Can we get on to find Branka?"

Neria adjusted her mail and nodded at Oghren, stomach still churning and eyes distant as she said, "Yes..."

* * *

Paragon Branka was dead. As was the golem smith Caridin. One upon Alistair's blade as she screamed in madness, and the other surrendered to the molten fires of his own forge. Neria stood on the edge, looking into the lava pit below where he had thrown himself only moments before.

If she kept her eyes on that glow, she would not look at the lyrium that encased the room around her.

Neria closed her watering eyes, the glare too bright. She could feel the crystals all around her. It reminded her of Fade-walking. Through Caridin's traps, she had seen the swirling blue along the passages, tempting her even then.

But it was much worse here.

They had been in the Deep Roads for weeks, she was certain of it. Their rations were dwindling, and would so more on the long trek back to Orzammar. That they knew their way now was little comfort to the coming days of continued darkness. The magic auras hummed around her body, sustained by the lyrium she'd imbibed in the gruelling fight.

Golems were not toys to be trifled with. Thank the Maker Shale had been with them.

They were spending the night – night, why did she call it that, there was no sense of time here – by the ruined Anvil to recuperate before setting out. Alistair was nursing a broken arm and an unfortunate number of bruised ribs, and while Oghren was relatively unharmed, killing his wife had taken its own toll.

They were resting, as she should be, while Shale stood guard at the entrance to the cathedral. That was what it was to Neria. Opening her eyes, she looked up the vein of lyrium that ascended and twisted as though supporting the entire cavern.

Delicious clarity, a better song than the discordant grind the

darkspawn wrought in her soul.

Neria looked over her shoulder. No one was paying attention to her. She placed a hand on the exposed cluster of hexagonal crystals that jutted from the rock. Even touching it was enough, and there was a rush at the dust she wiped off. She sighed in satisfaction and put her hand over her mouth.

Did it have a scent? She was certain it did. Like snow and spun sugar, white citrus rain and cinnamon bon bons. Her heart fluttered faster. Lightning claps over clean sheets and – and him. Her hand trembled, and she pressed it more firmly to her lips to steady herself.

The exposure was unhealthy, there was no way she could bring any of it with her. Would he know, was there some way Alistair could tell when he woke? It was from the battle, which is what she would say. It was necessity – to heal herself. To heal him.

This was the essence left by the Maker, to know Him and know He had been here. A last gift to His children before He left them. Crawling in the darkness, clawing, frantic and digging for their sins. Sweet manna.

The tremble ran through her again, and Neria clenched her hand to conceal it. It was fatigue, yes, most definitely fatigue, they had been pressing hard to reach this end.

All logic and reason seemed to turn in its presence, whispers on the edge of her consciousness. Looking over the maw that sank into the steaming bowels of the earth, she could see form in the heat. Tempting bodies pairing, silent sighs and her blood rushed at the thought of her blade through the coming war.

The crown sat by her bedroll, ready to be given to Orzammar's new king. She was light-headed at the thought – another faction swayed and directed by her hand. Like Irving had lived. Like Zathrian had died. She moulded the country to her will, fashioning it as she saw fit – like the hand of the Maker.

Blaspheme.

Her heart was in her throat, a glow at the edge of her vision as she knelt and caressed the cluster of crystals beside her once more. The contact made the palm of her hand lose sensation, ghostly and detached, bringing with it another rush of clarity.

Neria exhaled sharply through her nose, turning away from the cliff, away from the wavering heat of the lava pit. For a brief moment she had glimpsed the birth of the darkspawn, the pride of the Tevinter mages in all their glory, usurping Heaven and presupposing themselves to be Gods.

It was in the lyrium. The Maker was in it.

* * *

"Please, Neria..."

"I'm coming off of it," she croaked as they walked on, heavy steps pressing ever onward.

They never stopped for more than a few hours, trudging through the dark passages until they couldn't walk. They had long ago left the clots of darkspawn behind, burning the corpses in their wake.

Neria corked the lyrium, licking her lips as she slipped the phial into the band on her pack. She looked at Alistair, his concerned eyes upon her. "I needed a lot against the golems."

"It's been days."

The elf clenched her jaw, looking down as they plodded on.

He could see a telltale glow lingering in her eyes, and it took him back to the desperate nights after she had saved Conner. Thankfully they were running out of lyrium. But should he take the last phials from her? How much was she damaging herself?

Neria put the back of her hand to her mouth, feeling the subtle tremor through her ebb away as the lyrium suffused. Closing her eyes, a sigh exhaled out her nose and she could relax some. "How much farther do you think?"

"Two days, I'd say," Oghren replied, lifting a hand as they paused to listen. There was the sound of rushing water echoing down the dwarven road, and he pointed off.

"Sweet Andraste ," Neria whispered. Diverting into a collapsed waystation, she fell to her knees as she saw a basin replenishing with water. Cupping mouthfuls of the cool fluid to her lips, she greedily drank it. Their skeins had emptied that morning, and they had been rationing since they left the Anvil of the Void.

"Yet more weakness, ech," Shale commented, looking down the road they followed.

"You don't remember what it felt like? The hunger? The thirst?" Neria asked, pausing to catch her breath and let the water gurgle into her empty belly. She'd been unable to keep down the deepstalker Oghren had killed and prepped for their last meal.

"No."

"It's not so bad," Alistair murmured, dipping his skein to fill it and drinking all he could.

"No? Then I suppose it is an illusion that it would be more useful if it did not need to feed, and drink, and relieve itself constantly."

Oghren snorted and shook his head, wiping the water that soaked into his beard. "I bet you'd be doing a lot more than just that if you were still a dwarf."

"And what does it mean by that?" Shale turned towards Oghren.

"Golem like you, heh, I bet your curves were stone sculpted themselves," he sniggered.

"Unless it wishes to be left a stain on the road, it should refrain from such snide chatter."

The dwarf murmured something more, his words disappearing into his hands as he drank more water.

Neria sat down, leaning against the pedestal and breathing deeply. Her thirst had scarce abated.

Alistair caught her hand as it drifted over the secured lyrium phial. He took it from her, furrowing his brow as he quietly said, "Please don't."

Tugging her hand away, Neria dunked her skein to fill it and hauled herself up. With a whisper, her body was enshrouded in a golden veil, and she faded into her half-self. "Come on. No resting."

"Neria..."

The elf stormed away, Shale at her side, the stomps of the golem's steps echoing in the space.

"Why don't you just let her have it, kid."

Alistair glanced at Oghren, gritting his teeth before saying, "Because it's addictive. I thought dwarves knew all about lyrium."

"Never had much use for it." Oghren stood up, slinging the skein over his shoulder. Alistair followed, walking briskly to catch up with Neria's strides. "So maybe it's addictive, could be worse."

"It can destroy a person's mind. So sorry, yes, I'm concerned about her constantly sipping it."

"There something goin' on between you two?" The dwarf waggled his brow, and when Alistair only scowled, he continued. "I can sense this sort of thing. Knockin' boots, huh?" He whistled, looking at the elf ahead of them. "All that leg..."

Alistair closed his eyes in frustration. The time in the dark was wearing him thin. "Leg? Yes. She has legs."

"What do you do with them?" Oghren whispered.

Alistair made a frustrated sound and clamped his jaw shut, the wrinkle in his brow deepening as he kept an eye on the woman he loved.


	25. Return to Spring

Alistair lingered back from Neria as she flung herself onto the bed, sobbing into the sheets. They had just come from the Assembly. Harrowmont was king - and Bhelen was dead. The Aeducan turned on them despite what was decried to be the will of the Ancestors, and a blood bath had ensued.

The elven mage was not spared from the gore, her armour spattered with it, still shrouded and half-visible. Her body had glowed as she swung the crackling sword, slicing through Bhelen's supporters with a frightening cry. They'd had to fight on little to no sleep, marching straight to Lord Harrowmont when they emerged from the Deep Roads. Their stomachs were still aching from the emptiness. Alistair's own lips were cracked, and his senses were frayed. Pouring a glass of water, he sat on the opposite side of the bed and extended the glass, "Neria?"

"What?" She knocked the glass as she sat up, and the water fell off the side of the bed, splashing on the stone floor. Her eyes were red, and she softly gasped, trying to reign in her breathing.

Mouth dropping open, Alistair looked at her, the fatigue weighing his features. He looked down and shook the water spilt over his hand off, before stepping back to unbuckle his armour.

"Oh Maker," she shuddered and covered her mouth again, the auras about her flickering away and leaving her whole. "Just a sip, please. I do not wish to be like this!"

Alistair dropped his breastplate as Neria pulled off the bed, on her knees by their packs, pulling out the used bandages and empty bottles. There was the clatter of glass, thunking with coins and wood. Her movements grew more frantic, and one of the empty phials shattered as she threw it against the bureau.

The elf's sobs renewed as Alistair pulled her hands away, the fight gone from her. He stripped the rest of his armour before gingerly removing hers. Neria moved her limbs through the motions, still sitting on the floor as she reduced to quiet shudders, her voice a dry whine.

"I-I'm so sorry, Alistair. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, no," he whispered, furrowing his brow. There were bruises at the breaks in her armour, and here and there where it had dented.

"I could hear Him. The crystals, there were so many," she wept, scarce holding herself as he picked her up.

Alistair rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping the tears away as they spilt, sighing as he pulled her back to the bed with him. She felt smaller than he remembered. It had been so long since they'd been out of their armour.

"Look what I become, what have I done," Neria's voice trembled, stuffy and quiet. Hand in her hair, Alistair cradled her under his chin as she whispered, "I-I'm supposed to be strong."

"You are," he whispered, kissing her hair, no matter the blood and grime. He knew he was no better. Alistair tightened his arms as she tried to move, holding her slender elven frame against him as she trembled. He blinked rapidly to keep the tears from his eyes, sniffing in sharply. "We'll be in the sun soon. Out of the stone."

"Maker," she whimpered, turning to wrap an arm around his neck and crush against him. "I missed this."

Alistair sighed, hands spreading up her back to hold her flush, just linens between them. He rubbed the back of her neck, pressing his cheek to hers. "I love you."

Gripping him tighter, Neria cracked a soft sob, her lips on his cheek as she whispered, "And I you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Take off your own armour."

Neria almost laughed, closing fists into his shirt as she shivered, "Get my own water to spill."

"Mm. Carry your own hardtack." Alistair closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he realized there was no need to be alert. The only tug in his blood was the woman in his arms, no distant thrum or itch, no screaming dragons or off-kilter beats.

"I've ruined the bed," Neria sighed, shaking again to find herself pinned in strong arms to steady her. Her tears left streaks down her unwashed cheeks, clean, pale rivulets that almost shined.

"I helped a little," Alistair murmured, tucking a hand under her thigh to support her as he stood up. Turning from the bed, one of Harrowmont's servants fled from where she had been working, chin down. The stone bath was filled with steaming water. "Seems we have a day or two to be pampered though. Since we're favourites of the king and all."

Neria sighed, closing her eyes and hiding her face against him as she swallowed the blubbering need inside. "I-I'm so sorry, Alistair."

"You don't want to have a bath with me?"

Neria laughed and sighed again, her hand running up the back of Alistair's head as he grinned against her cheek. "How do you do it?"

"Well, apparently they heat the water over something called fire..."

"No," she smirked, her bottom lip sticking out some as she looked over his face.

His brow was raised in feigned innocence. "You're right, they probably use those lavafalls out there."

"Lavafalls."

"Well it certainly isn't water." Neria groaned and put her lips down on Alistair's shoulder as he murmured, "I'm not that great." With that, he lowered her into the bath, and Neria squeaked in surprise, her clothing soaked.

Alistair smiled a sigh, tugging his shirt off and giggling as Neria splashed him, starting to feel the darkness lift for the first time in weeks.

* * *

"How are you faring?"

Neria lifted her head to Zevran and paused. They were almost to the top of the wide steps that led to the surface. "I'll be glad to see the sun."

"You had us quite worried about you."

"Us?"

"Oh yes, Leiliana and Wynne, when we returned from dispatching that woman in the underground," Zevran crossed his arms, keeping Neria's slow pace. "Beside themselves entirely."

"Mm." Neria looked back down. The tremors had faded, having slept through the worst of the withdrawal. The lingering effects of the Deep Roads would take longer to overcome.

"And," Zevran coughed and lowered his voice, "Of course, I am worried. Who might protect me if not for you, _tesaro_?"

Neria warmed into a light smile, though there were still bags under her eyes, "Yes, you so badly need my protection."

"Indeed I do," he sighed, leaning on her. "Perhaps you could carry me too? These stairs, I cannot go on."

Shaking her head, the elven mage hesitated to cast a rejuvenating spell that glowed yellow over Zevran's skin before dissipating. "All better."

Zevran laughed and kept stride. In another few moments they reached the locked doors that kept the surface out. Oghren looked like he was going to be sick.

"You can down a cask of ale and not bat an eye, but we're going into the fresh air and you look half-dead." Alistair said.

"What's it really like?" Oghren asked one of the sentries unhinging the stonework gears.

"Big," the dwarf replied.

When the doors cracked, they shielded their eyes. Neria found Alistair had taken her arm, and they hurried down the steps out. Her eyes were watering, it was so bright – and it was only overcast.

"By the stone..."

Zevran clapped Oghren on the shoulder, "Don't fall up now."

"Wh-what? The mage said that wouldn't happen!"

"She's been holding on with her toes so long, it's easy to forget." The Antivan chuckled and strode down the steps, leaving Oghren on the threshold of Orzammar as they closed the doors.

"How in the – sodding surfacers..." Oghren frowned and looked down, taking care down the steps.

Neria wiped the butt of her palm over her eyes. She was paler than Alistair remembered, her hair almost glowing against the snows behind her. Morrigan strode by to the merchants, a list of supplies in hand.

"So on to Redcliffe?"

Alistair looked to her, "Can't we enjoy this a moment?"

The dwarven envoys walked by, speaking to each other under their breath. They barely gave Oghren a glance.

"I'll take it in when we're out of the mountains," Neria murmured, closing her eyes and breathing deep. "I want to see spring..."

* * *

A stack of missives awaited Neria when they reached the base camp in the foothills where Bodahn and the rest of the military men were. Separate from their growing numbers, it had been easier to forget they were rallying for war. The camp was full of runners waiting to leave with her replies.

The dogwood was blossoming, floppy white petals weighing spindly branches, and underfoot mosses sprang bright green amidst periwinkle and yellow wildflowers. They had been in the mountains for two months, all told.

After spending half the day sparring, Neria walked out of camp to sit on a ridge and address the letters. She sorted out those she needed others advice on and did her best with the rest. Supply lines were under constant threat of darkspawn, and in some cases Loghain's men too. There was concern that the fields would not be planted in time to feed the soldiers, let alone the common folk – it would be a pressing matter in the months to come.

Dressed in her Tevinter robes, Neria faced the late afternoon sun, some of the colour returning to her cheeks – though more likely she was burning. Her quill fluttered in a flourish as she signed the parchment and set it aside to dry.

They'd done it. They had an army amassing to combat the Blight. Unfocused eyes gazed off the ridge as the sound – no, the feeling – of the archdemon roused in her memory. Her dreams had become more vivid and violent in ways she had not thought possible. How would they ever kill it?

"Hey there."

Neria looked up as Alistair moved some of the parchment to sit beside her. His shirt was loose and there was the flush of exertion on his cheeks. She leaned to kiss there as he slipped an arm around her.

"Almost through?"

"Half way," she sighed, putting her quill down.

Alistair nuzzled his chin atop her head, stubble catching her hair, "I never thought I'd appreciate being outside so much."

"Still special to me, I suppose," Neria looked at their hands, weaving her fingers with his. He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes. It was easy to forget the weeks of darkness, the tug of the horde, and the tremble of lyrium while in his arms. They sat in silence until she said, "Things are going to change, aren't they."

"I don't want them to," Alistair whispered, pulling her closer as he added. "Well, don't get me wrong, I might be pleased a little if we end the Blight and defeat down Teryn Loghain."

"Might be?"

"Just maybe."

"I love you," Neria replied, emotion closing her throat.

"I love you too." Alistair closed his eyes and smelt her hair as Neria pushed the papers farther and sank into his embrace. "I don't know what Arl Eamon will want –what... what I may have to do."

"I know," she forced, holding her breath to keep her tears in. She'd avoided thinking of his birthright, but the reality was looming too close.

"I don't want to be king. I've never wanted any of that."

"I know." The tears spilt anyway, and Neria trembled, a soft gasp breaking her lips.

"Hey, hey..." Alistair pulled her back, running a hand over her cheek.

"I've never felt this way, I –" Neria closed her eyes and he kissed her nose. "Maker, I am frightened of losing you."

"Don't be... I – I don't know what comes, but it won't change how I feel..."

Neria's brow furrowed and she pursed her lips to steady herself. Wynne's words echoed in her thoughts. "I try to tell myself the fear is a positive thing - for I would not fear if I didn't have hope. I would not be afraid if you did not mean so much to me... if I did not hope for more. For peace. For... something..."

Alistair put his forehead against Neria's, unable to reply. The sun was hot on their skin, even if the breeze was cool. He could smell the cottonwood growing in the valley below. It's what Redcliffe would smell like.

"We are Grey Wardens. We stay together no matter what."

Alistair kept his eyes closed, soaking her in as much as her words before he said, "Of course."

Inside though, Alistair knew it wouldn't be any choice of their own.

But so did Neria. She tightened her grip on his collar, kissing his chin before their lips met.


	26. Duty

They arrived in Redcliffe just after sundown, and were shown to rooms in the castle as the arl's healer took the ashes. That Eamon had stayed alive all these months was nothing short of a miracle, it only served to reason that it necessitated another to revive him. It was the middle of the night when Bann Teagan came to the study to retrieve them.

Summoned to the arl's receiving chamber, Neria could see the relief on Alistair's face that his uncle was standing alive and well. The illness had aged him and he needed a good shave, but there was light in his eyes, and he was upright of his own strength. Isolde held Conner by the fire, and the mage felt her fellow Warden's eyes on her.

They spoke quickly, having marched all day to make it to the castle by nightfall. Eamon was well spoken, as a noble should be, his voice kind but firm. Walking alone to their room, his words still rung in Neria's head.

 _In the morning we will deal with the mage who poisoned me, and assemble our bid for the throne. Alistair is Maric's son and rightly should be king. Anora's claim is through marriage, it is not nearly as strong._

Pushing open the door, Neria saw Alistair gathering his armour. The man turned, pausing as he tied the pieces together.

"I've been given a room on the second floor." Alistair looked away as he added, "I'm not sure it's best we ... sleep together under the arl's roof. The servants might talk."

"They would talk out of jealousy," Neria quietly said, finding it hard to breath. The feeling had gone out of her hands as she crossed her arms. "Are you ashamed of me?"

The metal clunked in his hands as Alistair put it down and strode over to her, tentatively taking her arms. "No - no, not at all. Any man would be glad for your love. You are amazing..."

"Are you going to be king?"

Alistair's jaw moved, his eyes down as he whispered, "I don't know. You know I don't want to be."

Neria blinked rapidly to keep back her tears as she breathed, "Then don't be."

"It's not that easy," he looked to where his hand ran over her shoulder, and Neria closed her eyes. "We don't know enough yet. We don't know about Anora... if she's with Loghain..."

"I understand."

Alistair cupped Neria's cheeks and lifted her face, her icy eyes up to him. "This is to appease him. I - I don't know what the arl will do if he knows about us..."

"I saved his son!"

Ualan lifted his head from where he slept by the fire.

"I know, my love, Maker," Alistair sighed and pulled her against him. They were both in simple clothes, no armour to impede the way their bodies fit together. "I know what it did to you."

Neria pulled away, pushing his hands away as she shook her head, "Then what does it matter if you stay? Why does it matter, Alistair?"

Alistair blanched and his hands dropped, "The nobility needs to unite, Neria, or all of Ferelden might be lost to the Blight. This isn't just about us."

"You think I don't know that? I know!" Neria's hand shook as she put it over her eyes and turned away, the disconnect with her fingers and limbs growing. "We are Grey Wardens, and the Blight is our foremost concern."

The mabari was on his feet now, growling low in his throat, and both of them waved the dog away. He sat down, ears pressing back as he watched Alistair.

"I grew up here. It's weird to think of... being with you here. He was the only father I knew." Alistair touched the amulet around his neck, sighing as he said. "We are both so tired, we'll know more in the morning."

Neria clenched her hands, steadying the tremble through her as she looked down. Concealing her unsteady breath, she lifted her chin, back still to Alistair. She smoothed her hands down her robes, palms clammy and stomach bottomed into nausea. "I will speak to you then. And i-imagine you will be gone when I return." She swept past him out the door.

"Neria -"

Clipping the door shut behind her, Neria held her breath as she hurried down the hall. She had to get away, she wouldn't think of what was happening. They had time - they still had time, it couldn't be. Hearing the doorknob turn behind her, she ducked into the library and closed her eyes, pressing against the wall.

The room was dark and she could hear Alistair's booted steps pause. Was he looking for her? Would he have followed? The steps swept past the door and away to the stairs, allowing Neria to finally let out a choked breath. The low light and musty smell made her uneasy - what had once been such a comfort. With a wave of her hand she summoned flames in the hearth, and light flared through the room.

She could burn it all, what would they think then? It was dry and most of the servants were asleep. It would catch quickly. Neria closed her eyes and sunk back against one of the bookshelves.

There was parchment. If she closed her eyes, she was still in the Tower. It was late night and Cullen had turned his cheek when she snuck into the library to study by candlelight. She could feel the warmth from the growing fire, the shifting light over her eyelids.

When had she lost the ability to be cold? She had not cared growing up - she had rolled her eyes when other apprentices snuck into corners to kiss, to touch each other. Neria's cheeks flushed at her thoughts. When did her body become the conduit for her thought? Where was her reason?

Her legs gave out and Neria sunk to the floor, tucked against the bookshelves. Her head spun with thoughts, with the months they had seen each other every day, with all they had been through. When he had fallen to be healed in her arms, when he had thrown himself in harm's way to keep her from it - when he shielded her in the Deep Roads and spoke in whispers to keep her thoughts from the dark.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, Neria put her face down and silently cried. She had known he was the bastard prince, but she had ignored it. He wanted her to forget - he didn't want that life, he didn't want the crown, he wanted her.

But she didn't matter. He didn't matter. Isn't that what Duncan would say? What Irving would say? What Wynne had tried to knock into her thoughts so many times since they had left the Tower? Love was ultimately selfish, and they could not afford to be so.

Didn't everyone have to be a little selfish? How would they make it through what was to come...

Head tucked in her arms, the slender elf buried her hands in her hair, holding herself in a tight ball. Slowly her limbs loosed, her soft sniffles silenced, and she fell asleep in the corner.

Scant hours would pass before she woke with a start, limbs stiff and mind alight with the horrors of the Blight. In the darkened tent of her arms she could still see the villagers burning, the men trapped as an ogre battered through the wall - she was the ogre. The stone had given way in her grasp, and a woman's scream tinkled in her blood.

The song that she had not been able to decipher was growing clear, and biting the head off a small boy, the ogre she saw through clutched the peasant woman and dragged her off.

Neria put a hand to her lips. They were cold, thank the Maker, though the tingle of warm blood still lingered.

"Hello?"

Wearily lifting her head, Neria saw she was still in the library. The fire had died, embrous glow leaving only dim shadows. The bookcase in front of her cut a shadow through a candle's light. She sucked a breath through her teeth as she straightened a leg out.

"I - Warden?"

The mage lift her head to see Bann Teagan holding a candle aloft.

"I had not known you were here - are you alright?"

Neria took his offered hand as she stiffly got up. She ran her fingers through her hair and over her face, unable to keep from blushing as she quietly said, "Yes ser, I... libraries are a comfort..."

"A little dark to be reading," he chuckled, glancing away as he motioned to the chairs by the fire.

"I suppose yes." Neria's cheeks darkened, "I fell asleep."

"I gathered," Teagan replied, setting the candelabra on the tripod table between the chairs. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."

Encouraging the fire back to life with an easy phrase, Neria smoothed her robes, "Probably best, right? Sleeping on stone... I've had enough of that." She stood and looked at the fire.

"It is sleep none the less. Something I... have been unable to find for some weeks." Bann Teagan regarded her before opening a nearby cabinet to retrieve a decanter and fill a glass. "Would you care for a drink, my lady?"

Running her hands up her arms, Neria glanced aside before she said, "Please."

The amber liquid filled most of his glass, and Teagan spoke as he poured two fingers for her, "I come here some nights - most nights now. If not for a good book, for something that might leaden my lids. With Eamon's illness, I found myself trying to brush up my knowledge of governance and military strategy in case - well, in case the unthinkable occurred. Here you are."

Neria took the glass without meeting his eyes, and it was a moment before she said, "And have you learnt much?"

"Yes, almost unfortunately." He chuckled dryly, sipping his glass before adding, "Rainsefere is a small holding, and the free landowners have never asked much of me. I would have thought I'd learn that reading does not help me sleep."

"I am much the same," she offered a brief smile, before the emotion melted away. "I am drawn into them too much to slip away from my thoughts enough to rest."

"You are welcome here any time, my lady. I have no doubt Arl Eamon will only reiterate that. We spent much of the night speaking of what has happened."

Eyes in her glass, Neria quietly said, "Oh?"

"There is much he doesn't see," Bann Teagan murmured, sipping his glass and watching the elf over the edge of it. "I wonder if he can truly grasp the situation, given he dreamt while we lived a nightmare."

Neria sipped the liquor - a brandy or something, not to her liking, but it was stiff - and tried to conceal the face she made.

Teagan chuckled, "Strong, I know. I should have warned you."

"No - no, it's alright. Better than the ale in Orzammar."

"Oh? I don't find that so bad. Maybe that's why I'm drinking this. Hmm."

Neria choked as she finished the rest of the drink and handed the glass to Teagan, and he tried not to grin as she wheezed a quiet thanks. He glanced at the chairs as he put the glass down, taking a place beside Neria at the hearth instead. She was massaging her hands together, eyes upon the dancing flames.

Had he looked, he might have seen how she manipulated them - into faces and scenes, each individual a lick of fire that wicked into the air and became a tuft of ashen smoke. Perhaps they were only decipherable to her, like clouds over a prairie sky change uniquely for each child.

"The coming war will be long. The villagers still speak of you very fondly." Teagan paused, " I know you can bring us through it."

Tongue to the roof of her mouth, Neria's brow furrowed for an instance. "I will do my best. It is all I can do, ser."

"Of course - and please, just Teagan. If there is anything I may assist you with, know you have but ask."

Neria knotted her hands together, oblivious of the bann's proximity as she turned. She stopped and looked up at him, "You have been studying military campaigns?"

"Yes," Teagan drew a breath, licking the brandy from his lips. "My tutors in the north were adamant I learn all I could in the event I needed fight by my sister's side. I have been revisiting some of the older tomes we have."

"It will be a great help." Neria fit her fingers together to stop from fidgeting as she turned back to the fire.

Teagan looked into his drink in the silence before saying, "This must be very difficult for you."

Neria lifted her chin and hugged herself as she met his face with a firm line, "I will do what I must for my order. And - and now I must sleep, if you'll forgive me."

"By all means, I am sorry for keeping you, my lady." Teagan inclined his head, watching the door as she hurried by and down the hall.

Gripping the doorknob as she pushed into her room, Neria groaned and put a hand over her eyes. The downed glass of brandy was going straight to her head. Great.

The room was cold and embers were all that was left of the fire started by the servants. Her gear was the only thing out of place in the room. The bed sheets were tucked down and the red damask curtains were open, showing hints of predawn in the sky over Redcliffe. Alistair wasn't there. It was like he never had been.

The empty pain left by sleep was starting to fill as she stepped into the room. There were flowers beside the wardrobe - it was spring after all. Neria snatched up the pewter vase and flung it across the room with a frustrated sound. Instead of the satisfying clang of metal on stone, there was a deadened thud and a muffled curse.

Neria reached behind her back for a blade that wasn't there, and her eyes darted to where they lay with her things. Inhaling, she incanted the entropic trigger that brought forth a swirling mist at her feet.

"Agh - I asked for that - please! We both know you can fell me."

Dispelling her magic, Neria's arms dropped and her skin flushed as a rush of dizziness went through her, "Zev?"

"Indeed," the Antivan emerged from the shadows, the front of his shirt drenched and caught with broken petals.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"It is a poor habit of mine."

Neria stared at him agape before hiccupping.

"Bless you, ah - sneaking and terrible things such as this."

The mage ran her hands up her face with a groan, "Maker, I don't need this right now."

"No?" Zevran shook his shirt, brow cocked.

Neria shook her head and turned away as tears began to well, "Why are you here?"

Shifting his weight, Zevran stepped closer as he hesitated and said, "I am concerned about you."

"Me," she laughed, resting a hand on the bedpost, flushed with drink, "I'd be more worried about the country. About what happens if we fail."

Zevran furrowed his brow, "Have you been drinking, Neria?"

Flailing her hand, Neria murmured, "A night cap."

"Hmm." Hand by the window, Zevran watched a pair of guards in the courtyard below. "Alistair is in the arl's apartments, it seems."

Neria sat looking at her hands as Zevran pulled the curtain closed, idling by the other window before covering it as well. "And what else d'you see? If you have all the answers."

Tracing a thumb down the curve of his jaw, Zevran glanced at Neria and rounded the bed, "A dear friend who is hurting a great deal."

Closing her eyes, Neria clamped her lips shut, unable to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. The liquor had eroded her further and her voice trembled, "Why would he have done all this to just turn me away? Of course I should have known - kn-known when he told me he was an illegitimate heir that there was no place for me in his heart."

"Neria..."

"I love him so much! After everything that's happened, I can't bear the distance - the Deep Roads, Zev, it was a nightmare! I would never have made it without him, he kept me from losing myself. An-and now he... he will not stay with me," she cried and hung her head, her cheeks even hotter. Her hands closed into fists as the Antivan took them, and opening her bleary eyes, saw he knelt before her. "I-I'm sorry, you shouldn't be here."

"Nor should you be alone," he sighed, pressing Neria's hands together as she shook. He sat up and pulled her forward, "Come - no, I am hardly trying to bed you, dear. Give me more credit than that, you are drunk. Should the time come that you wish me in your bed, I would want you to be able to fully enjoy my expertise."

Neria let her head fall on his shoulder as she laughed oddly. She clamped her mouth shut, the silenced cries escaping in the tremors of her body instead.

" _Dolcezza_ , the truth of your place in his heart is not what creates conflict." Zevran sighed, closing his eyes as he hugged her close. Had he imagined her so close, it was not for such a thing. The strain in his own heart was of little consequence for what she needed. "The man can be foolish."

"Then so am I," Neria slurred, eyes reddening as she kept an arm linked around Zevran.

"Indeed," he chuckled, "But what do they say... " His mind said _Amore e gelosia nacquero insieme_ , but he would not speak the truth. " _Amore regge senza legge_. Love rules without rules."

"Is that Antivan?"

"The language? Yes." He grinned as she lifted her head, eyes glistening with tears. Zevran pulled up the loose end of the sash around Neria's waist to wipe her cheek. "But what I mean is that our place in this castle is temporary. He is inexperienced, and not spoken with the arl - his uncle, yes - in many years."

"Maker, I've been so insensitive."

"No. No, you acted with your heart. And for all that you act with your mind, it seems a reasonable allowance."

Neria closed her eyes, swallowing thickly, and Zevran caught her as she swayed. The flush on her cheeks was ravishing. "I feel ill."

"Just a night cap," Zevran tsk'd and drifted to pour a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand. "Drink it all."

Neria glugged the water and hiccupped again quietly, "How come you are being so nice?"

"You say that as though you have not treated me with all possible kindness," Zevran took the glass away, smirking. "Or have you forgotten how we met? It would certainly explain a thing or two."

Sniffing, Neria shook her head and tilted over onto the bed. "I will have to kick Bann Teagan tomorrow - later today."

"I will endeavour to remind you." Zevran lingered back, almost sitting on the bureau as he crossed his arms. "If there is nothing else you need, my Warden, I shall let you sleep and retire to my own chambers."

Neria's eyes unfocused, easily drawn back into her thoughts. She bit at her lip before she quietly said, "Do you really... th-think this is all for the arl's benefit? What if he becomes king, Zev? Maker..."

Stepping back to the bedside, Zevran sat on the edge, "There are few words I could give you that you haven't already crossed. Certainly you need rest, sleep off the drink."

Her face blanched and Neria whispered, "Sleep is no relief." Closing her eyes, another bout of tears fell, landing as dark marks on the covers. "I miss feeling normal."

"Ah, but you are a mage, you are far greater than normal."

"That is normal to me." Neria fidgeted with the bed covers, and Zevran leaned back against the headboard, one leg half-on and the other half-off the bed.

"Imagine what else about you astounds others, but is merely who you are, mm?"

"I'm sorry," Neria murmured, wiping over her tears.

"Enough, come rest."

Pulling up the bed, Neria lay beside where Zevran sat, and he spun his belt to push his dagger out of the way. The fire collapsed and crackled, and the room grew darker.

"Tell me another of your... professional anecdotes?"

Zevran grinned, trying to ignore his body as she laid her head in the crook of his arm. She had the blankets pulled around her, but it had been far too long since he'd enjoyed the company of another. "Ah, turning my own words on me, hmm? Let's see... One of my jobs took me up river to Seleny - do you know Antivan geography? No? It is of no matter. I had to have a powder blue silk dress tailored to fit me..."

Neria 's expression relaxed in a tired grin, eyes closed.

"So I can sympathize with those of the feminine persuasion a great deal more. It related directly to my mark..."

* * *

Apparently Ualan had gotten into the larder, and for some reason he was the one the servants came to about it. He was used to little sleep, and at the abbey he had always been an early riser, but Maker, staying in a bed would have been nice. Even if it was alone. Alistair sighed and strode down the hall, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw Zevran closing Neria's bedroom door.

"What are you doing?"

Adjusting his shirt, Zevran replied, "Cleaning up your mess?"

"What?" Alistair glanced askance. "Oh."

"And however much I might enjoy claiming it was because of me she got so little sleep last night, it would simply not be true."

Alistair crossed his arms and closed his eyes, "Thank you for making me feel worse than I already do."

"Good." Zevran rested his hands on his hips, "Someone should."

"You know, Neria might trust you Zevran, but I don't. I wanted to make that clear."

"That is a pity, because I trust you, Warden. Do you know why? Because she does. And that is enough for me."

The tips of Alistair's ears reddened and he frowned, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"We have been fighting by her side - by each other's side - for months now, Alistair." Zevran hesitated, flashing a debonair smile at an elven servant as she walked by, before continuing in the same hushed tone. "We all kill those who we must. But I hoped you would have come to see that I am loyal to her and your cause. Neria not only spared my life, but she is a friend. I would not betray her."

"I didn't say you would -"

"No, you did not need to." Zevran took a deep breath, collecting himself before saying. "You have hurt her a great deal, but by her love for you, I will hold my tongue further. Hurt her again and I will not be so soft."

Alistair stood outside the room as Zevran left. He looked at the closed oaken door, and his shoulders sunk. When did life become so complicated? But then, if life were simpler, he would have never met her. He put his hand on the door.

"Ser - ser! Please, the mabari won't listen to anyone!" An elven servant ran towards him.

"I'm coming," Alistair sighed.


	27. Unravelling

Neria vacantly stared out of the caravan. The surrounding valley was brimming with the gathering armies, dotted with canvas tents and the curl of smoke from innumerable fires. After some days in Redcliffe dealing with technicalities and details, they had finally set out for Denerim. Her stomach wouldn't settle, though she wondered if it was from rocking of the covered wagon beneath them.

Things had not improved with Alistair. The arl had kept them both immensely busy - and separated, more often than not. Bann Teagan had been a voice in her corner, and though Arl Eamon had finally shown her the accord due for saving his village and life, it was obvious he did not think much of her.

Dealing with so many people had been exhausting. Suddenly a night losing sleep because of having the watch in camp didn't seem so terrible.

Wynne patted her hand, "It's very impressive, the work you two have done."

Neria looked at the mage beside her, seeing Bann Teagan grin in her periphery. It was the three of them in the caravan - Alistair was with Eamon and his family in the one ahead of them, while Morrigan had disappeared in some animal form. Leiliana, Sten and Zevran had all graciously accepted horses offered from the arl's stables - and though Zev had teased Neria, there was no way she was going to attempt that. It left Shale, Ualan and Oghren in Bodahn's cart at the back of their entourage. They were moving ahead of the small force that would join them in Denerim, comprised of envoys and messengers to keep up communication with the army as it assembled to meet them.

"I have no doubt the bards will be writing of your adventures, my lady."

Neria blushed and shook her head, quietly saying, "I do not think it is so much. There may be an army gathering, but there is still the advancing horde."

The dreams had been growing in intensity, the nights rife with blood and screams, burning with the indigo fire. The archdemon was ever there, haunting and stalking, eating people alive and setting livestock ablaze amidst the horde.

"It is still more than anyone else has done, Neria." Wynne reassured her, smiling tiredly. She had changed over the months, softened by the spirit that sustained her. Would she sneak in an I-told-you-so soon, seeing how she and Alistair were kept apart?

"What about Leiliana? Some of the servants talk, perhaps she would be willing to document your escapades?"

"Perhaps," Neria murmured, closing her eyes as the caravan rocked and she had to tuck her head between her knees.

"Poor dear," Wynne rubbed a hand over Neria's back, looking through her bag to find a root. "Chew this."

"I suppose you wouldn't have much experience with this sort of travel."

"No. We've walked the whole country." Sitting up Neria took the damp cloth Teagan offered, wiping her brow before putting it on the back of her neck, "Thank you."

Bann Teagan watched her briefly before saying, "I am sorry for how my brother has treated you. You have played such a large part, his cold demeanour is unreasonable."

"That's kind of you to say." Neria held her tongue on the truth of it.

"It is understandable, though," Wynne said, glancing at Neria from the corner of her eye. "He was poisoned by a mage and will lose his son to the Circle. Never mind that it was an elf that saved his kith and kin. How insulting." Chuckling as Neria suppressed a grin, she squeezed the elf's hand.

"And Alistair," Teagan sighed, stretching his knee. "Sent to the Chantry, but now with Cailan gone, Eamon can suddenly put up with Isolde's protests. I doubt he wants to be in that carriage with them. She never treats him well."

"He reminds her of what she cannot have," Wynne said. "I hope for his sake she holds her tongue."

"That is not one of her strong suits, I'm afraid." Teagan looked at Neria, whose gaze was out the window. Her expression was blank. "He is stronger than most think, though. More than either Eamon or Isolde imagine."

"Duncan would not have chosen him for the order if he were of weaker character," Neria quietly said, watching the trees pass. The canvas tents were long out of sight. The world whizzed by. It so accurately represented her life in more ways than she liked.

If Teagan suspected anything, he didn't mention it on the trip. He and Wynne chatted more and Neria closed her eyes, feigning sleep as she sunk in her seat. Her nausea had lifted, leaving the knot of unease behind.

She wanted his arms. How could she miss them so easily? The simplicity of an embrace and all it did for her - the quiet rumble of his voice laden with sleep, or even just his lips on her brow.

The day waned and Neria's thoughts fell away as she slept, the caravan rocking about her.

* * *

Standing in the front hall, the arl clasped his hands together behind his back as he discussed the status of Denerim with his seneschal. The servants were carrying the last of the crates to the various rooms that had been readied for Neria and her companions, and the elf stood beside Alistair as they waited to speak with Eamon.

The doors of the hall burst open and a young page came running in, tripping over his feet as he knelt down at the arl's feet.

"What is it, boy?"

"My lord, it is the regent -"

The words were scarce out of his mouth when the sentries bowed and swept open the doors. The page scurried out of the way as Arl Eamon went down the steps to incline his head as the Teryn Loghain strode into the hall, flagged by his lieutenant, Ser Cauthrian, and Arl Rendon Howe.

"Your Grace, it is a pleasant surprise that you would honour us with a visit - it is most unexpected."

"Cut the formalities, Eamon." Loghain lifted his chin and glowered at the man. "The nobility gathers for a Landsmeet when we are faced with the greatest threat since the Occupation. Imagine my surprise to find that you were recovered from your illness and the source of this strife."

Arl Eamon's expression hardened from its formal air, "I am much recovered, no thanks to you."

"I would be wary of your words, such utterances might be considered treason." Howe interjected, and Loghain waved a gauntleted hand to dismiss his words.

"Now is not the time for your petty ploys for power!" Loghain spat, his eyes dark as he stared Eamon down. "If we do not unite under a single banner, under a single leader, we risk losing everything your sister and father fought for."

"My father died protecting Calenhad's bloodline." Eamon's expression didn't falter as he heatedly replied, "You of all people should know what my sister went through for it."

Loghain's cheek twitched, "So the rumours I had heard of some bastard of Maric's that you stowed away are true?"

"Alistair is of the Theirin bloodline, and is the true heir to Ferelden's throne."

Neria paled, tightening her hand into a fist. Alistair's eyes didn't waver from Loghain's. Her pulse was in her ears.

"These plots for the throne are beneath you, Eamon. The Landsmeet will not stand behind some untested whelp so long as Queen Anora is able to lead us. Especially one that is a traitor to the crown, " Teryn Loghain's eyes drifted from the arl to the pair flanking him. "The very individuals responsible for King Cailan's death!"

"Us? You are the traitor! You abandoned the Grey Wardens and his majesty at Ostagar!" Neria snapped.

Ser Cauthrien stepped up beside her lord, "Quiet churl! Your betters are speaking."

Heeling his lieutenant, Teryn Loghain's eyes swept from the Wardens back to the arl as he said, "You tread a very fine line, Eamon."

"Is there something you wish with this audience, your Grace?" Eamon's words cut through, glancing in his periphery as Alistair took a step forward. "If not, I must excuse myself. I arrived in Denerim only this morning, and have much to prepare for the Landsmeet."

Howe lingered as Teryn Loghain snapped around, Ser Cauthrien on his heels.

"You reach too high, Rendon."

"I live to serve the crown," he replied, narrowing his eyes before following the teryn out the doors. Alistair exhaled roughly.

"Well. That was... bracing," Arl Eamon murmured. "I had not expected Loghain to show himself so boldly. He is worried."

"Really? I was under the impression he was about to skewer us for dinner," Alistair replied.

Neria's eyes stayed on the door, her heart thudding fast in her throat. Arl Eamon's words washed over her.

"Do not doubt the reality - he was trying to intimidate us. To prevent you from showing at the Landsmeet." The arl closed his eyes and ran his hand through his beard, "Things are more dire than I imagined. Loghain is not the man he once was. I can only hope the other nobles see through him and realize you are the true heir."

Neria looked down, ears blotting with cotton as Alistair looked at her. She was left on the stairs as Eamon led Alistair away to his study.

* * *

They had been in the city almost a week and, after the tense confrontation with Teryn Loghain, were almost prepared for the impending Landsmeet. They were bent over a map of Ferelden marked with flags when the Queen's handmaiden was ushered in. It seemed the situation was tenser than they imagined - and the Queen's life may be at stake.

They followed Erlina through the streets to the Arl of Denerim's estate - and it seemed no time before they were had freed their fellow Grey Warden and the others Howe imprisoned, killed the traitorous bastard, and been taken into custody by Ser Cauthrian. By some stroke of luck, the Queen remained inconspicuous and escaped with Zevran and Leiliana.

Bound and disarmed, they were hauled to Fort Drakon without affair. Tossed in the back of a cart, Alistair tried to sit up.

"Was this really necessary, you think?"

Neria lay on her side, staring at the bloodstains on the cart. "What else would we have done? Killed them and lost more trained men needed to fight the Blight?"

"Not what I meant," Alistair sighed, pushing his foot against the side as they hit a broken cobble and were jostled. "You'd think I'd begin to hate you for always being right, though." He tried to shake some flies off him, "Couldn't you use magic or something?"

"I usually need my hands to manipulate the connections to the Fade. Why do you think I sheath my sword?"

"Oh." The cart pitched again and Alistair muttered as he was thrown back on his hands, "Sweet Andraste, like we couldn't have walked!" He lay there looking at the dismal sky.

"This is quiet," Neria said, cheek reddening from the wood rubbing against it. "No crowds for us to rally, no attention given."

They were silent the rest of the way, listening to the city bustle around them. The streets stank, with all that had frozen the past winter thawing and ripening under the warming sun. Another aspect of urban life Neria had never considered - nor valued. Inside the high walls of the fort they were dragged out of the cart, and the guards looked amused as Alistair protested.

"Strip 'em of their weapons and armour - and bring 'er to my office." A man in dark mail ordered, waving them away.

"No - no, no! We came peacefully -" Alistair pulled from the guards arms as they were tugged apart.

"An' she'll be with you soon." The man replied, rubbing a hand through his short beard. "But traitors are only treated so well, boy."

"By the Maker, I swear if you hurt her, I'll -" Alistair buckled as a guard hit him, falling to the ground as more of his plate mail was stripped. He spat out a mouthful of blood and croaked, "I'll kill you."

Neria shook her head as their eyes met, her armour and clothes left in a pile as she was hauled away in her smallclothes. Her cheeks burned as she tried to keep up with the guards.

Marched ahead of them, a rag caught her mouth as the guard said, "You're a mage, eh?"

Neria closed her eyes as a hand ran down her side, unable to suppress a shudder.

* * *

Alistair lifted his head as he heard the key in the lock. It was difficult to see, only half the torches lit in what he supposed was night. His body ached - the guards hadn't gone easy on him before he was locked in the cell. For all his protests, it only made things worse. He didn't know how much time had gone by and he hadn't seen Neria since they were hauled off the cart. It had to have been more than a day.

The cell door swung open, and the guard tossed Neria to the ground.

"Hey -" The door slammed shut without a word, and the guard paced away. From somewhere in the dungeon there was a scream - there had been so many. Maker, there had been so many.

Rising, Alistair cringed as pain lanced up his side. He was fairly sure they'd hurt a few ribs, and there were bruises on his arms from where he'd tried to protect himself. Little good that had done, the gash behind his ear was still sticky.

"Neria," he whispered, looking through the dungeon before sitting down beside her. Thank the Maker, she was breathing. There were bruises along her body too, darkened at her wrists. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but the thought of hurting her more...

Alistair sighed. And what could he do for her either way? She knew the herbs and the words to mend bones. He couldn't even keep her from this. He should have - he should have protected her, but that seemed something out of his control long ago. Wasn't everything now?

Looking down, he traced his fingers through Neria's hair, furrowing his brow. She had given him something when all the rest had been chaos. He feared losing her more than anything - it wasn't the fighting, Maker, her death would be its own end - but losing her to the life being fashioned for him. He felt so useless.

Neria slowly opened her eyes, a groan in her throat as she plucked her cheek from the cold stone. Her vision blurred, and her breath caught as she shivered, blinking to try and sit up.

"Oh thank the Maker," Alistair lifted his head, dropping his knees as he reached for her.

Putting her hand in his, Neria stopped him from touching her. Pale and clammy, she tried to gain her bearings. Throat hoarse, she quietly asked, "A-are you alright?"

"Me? Me, what? I... I'm fine, but you..."

She looked at the bruising down his ribs, rolling onto her hip as her head throbbed. There was still blood on her lips, and she licked it away as she looked - the guard was too close.

Neria tugged her hand from his, closing her eyes to find some centre. Behind her eyes the images flickered. Her cheeks flushed. Now was not the time to cry, not the time to think of what they had done, not the time to be selfish. "Please - Sir?"

The lone guard by the cells strolled closer, his eyes taking their time up her body before looking at her face. "Yea? What."

"Is there no way we might have some clothing? It is so cold..."

Leaning onto the bars towards her, the guard grinned and said, "That it is. Maybe I can think of something to do that'd warm you up."

"Don't you even -" Alistair was on his feet, his hand tightening into a fist as Neria looked back to him.

"I - I'm not sure there's m-much you can do through the bars," Neria quietly said, unable to keep herself from blushing. The guard was taken by it, reaching to touch her cheek with a chuckle.

"He going to be a problem?"

Neria shook her head, looking down as her blush spread. She tightened her fingers on the bar. She couldn't think, she couldn't give it away, she just needed to get him to open the door. Even if she could feel Alistair's eyes burrowing into her back.

"You don't have to do this," he croaked, sunk at the back of the cell.

The guard was at the door, and the clatter of the keys in the lock echoed in the wide space of the dungeon as Neria kept her eyes closed but whispered to Alistair, "Just be ready."

Neria turned around, pressing her back against the cold, grimy bars. She couldn't lift her chin as the guard came up, and he was too distracted as Alistair barrelled into him. Cringing, her mouth dropped open at the lack of coordination, before she moved, manipulating the Fade and the guard was encased in ice.

"Why d-didn't you just hit him?"

Alistair stepped over the man and teetered over, blushing to the tips of his ears as he looked at Neria, "I did hit him. What? You think I've ever gotten in a fistfight?"

"I suppose not."

"Next time I'll be sure to break my hand on someone's neck, and not end up accomplishing anything."

"Shh," Neria shook her head, forgetting herself a moment as they crept out the cell door. Kneeling down they listened, but there were no other sounds in the wide stone room. "Put on his armour."

"What?"

"You're taking his place...then we shall find some for me and get out of here."

* * *

Through the reeking streets they kept ranks with their fellow guards. An hour had gone by when they reached the river and the road split. It was sundown and the shadows were lengthening.

"Gimme a sec," one of the guards said, before trundling to the edge of the bridge to relieve himself.

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered, looking at Neria as she turned her back. He couldn't see her face for the helmet that was almost too big.

"Soon," she murmured. They'd spent the evening maintaining their charade. She was looking up the street when an arrow whizzed by and hit the indelicately exposed guard. Alistair pushed her sideways as another arrow flew, the guard gurgling a cry.

Someone else was amongst them as the shot guard pitched into the channel, the splash lost as blades flashed. There came a curse from the vantage.

Neria drew her sword at Alistair's side, backing each other. The other guard was carved up with a fluid motion by the dual-wielding attacker, and the mage flowed into a trained response that brought a glow to her skin and an electric tenacity to the air.

"And here I thought we would have to kill you for the uniform."

Neria dropped her arms as the assailant pulled of his helm and gave his blond hair a shake, "Zev?"

Leiliana swung down from the rampart and ran to give Neria a hug, "You are free! We were so worried."

"Hmph."

"And you too," she laughed, embracing Alistair, who coloured lightly.

"We were coming to rescue you," Zevran grinned and gave the other dead guard a shove with his foot, sending him over into the water. "The guards, Leiliana insisted - if we were to stage a heroic, covert rescue, we might do it properly."

"But you didn't need us, mm? Come! Arl Eamon will be ecstatic."

Eyes down, Neria withdrew as they went back to the arl's estate. Alistair spared her when Leiliana demanded details, describing how they'd gotten out.

"I would take comfort - Loghain will be furious."

The market was closed for the night, and a troupe of street performers maintained a small crowd that they avoided.

"It is little comfort," Alistair said.

Neria crossed her arms, hugging herself as the grips of reality returned. No longer play-acting, the reminder of what occurred in the fort chilled her insides. Walking into the castle, one of the servants urged them to wake the arl.

"I would like a bath. He can wait till the morning," Neria said, her lips in a grim line.

"I - yes of course..."

"You wish no help?" Zevran asked under his breath as they took the stairs deeper into the castle.

"No," Neria replied, expression pained. "Please stop."

Alistair glanced her way, "Hmm?"

Neria shook her head, and Zevran stopped as the elven mage continued by Alistair's side. Leiliana lingered too, full lips distorted.

"Something happened there."

"Indeed," the Antivan replied, watching the Wardens go. "Dungeons are not places for good women."

"No," Leiliana paled, "They are not."

When Neria turned into her room, Alistair's hand caught the door, "I don't want to leave you."

"Just bring a tub, and any amount of water - I can heat it." She said as a servant ducked around Alistair. She was already pulling off her armour, her hands trembling a little. "Why? Why do you want to stay? Why now?"

Furrowing his brow, Alistair glanced at the servant as she left the room and caught Neria's hand as she almost spiked her pauldron. "You need me."

"I need to be clean - I-I need..." She shuddered and cringed out of his grasp, crying out as she frantically tore at the armour, scattering it on the stone floor with a loud clatter.

"Then - then we'll get you clean, Neria."

Neria jerked away, trembling as she tried to compose herself, and made it as far as the fire before she slumped into a wooden chair in just her plainclothes. When the door creaked, Alistair put his foot in the way to keep it from opening. He exchanged quiet words with the servant, and the mage sunk into herself, bending forward and covering her face with her hands.

The quiet clink of metal on metal was there, and she heard the latch on the door. The bright warmth of the fire was obscured, and there was the sound of a heavy copper bowl plunking down, coupled with the slosh of water. Looking through her fingers, Neria saw Alistair's bare feet.

"Can you heat it? I think it might take too long on the fire."

Sitting up all that was needed, the elf traced the symbol in the air, drawing power as she whispered the simple invocation. Steam rose from the large copper bowl as the water heated.

A cloth sloshed into the water, and Neria glanced at Alistair. His eyes were on the linen as he wrung it, before he realized she had kept her head up. He pressed the hot, wet cloth up over her cheek and she closed her eyes, feeling the air hit where it left a trail.

Choking on her breath as Alistair warmed the cloth, Neria looked into her lap as tears spilt down her cheeks. He took her hand, washing between each digit before tenderly pressing his lips to her palm. Though she tensed, she didn't pull away, and he continued to slowly wash over her arms.

Some of the tears fell, and dipping the cloth again he washed up over her cheek, sitting up on his knees. His hand followed, rough and calloused, and Neria shuddered heavily, cringing into herself.

Alistair's voice cracked as he washed down her arms. "I love you."

"I know," she trembled, tucking her chin down as more tears fell. He dropped the cloth in the water and pulled his shirt off.

"Here," he lifted her arms, and she helped pull the shirt down.

The scent of him enveloped her, the musk and sweat of his body, and Neria hugged herself again, burying her face in the rough cloth. Still trembling, Alistair pulled her small frame forward on the chair, and when his hands tentatively ran up her back she fell into him and sobbed.

"You're the strongest person I know," Alistair ran his hand over her hair, frown drooping as she shuddered and muffled herself into him.

"S-stop. Just..." Neria pressed her lips against the muscular curve of his neck, silencing herself as she shook. Turning her head, she wiped her cheek on his skin "Just stay."

Alistair closed his eyes, tightening his arms around the slender elf as she snuffled and shivered. He didn't care what it did, what it took. Loghain was going to die.


	28. Alienation

Soris closed his eyes and shook his head as his cousin. Shianni steadied herself against him and laughed, "Yeah, and then one of those shem mages looked at the Warden and was like, 'Maker! You look terrible!'"

Neria laughed and put a hand over her brow, "You didn't hear inside when he called Zev a girl."

"That's his name," Shianni replied,

"I am too pretty. It is a curse." Zevran sighed, eyes sparkling as the red-haired elf smirked at him.

"Ha!" Shianni rapped on the door before entering, and Valendrian turned from amidst the small gathering of elves.

"Excellent! I am pleased you had the time to join us. A good meal for those who saved so many and go to save more - seems the least we can do. And friends of Duncan's at that."

The hahren beckoned Neria closer, and the mage bowed her head, "Thank you for inviting my companions and I."

"Neria... Shianni said that was your name? What is your last name, miss?"

"It was Surana."

Valendrian' s expression softened, "And you're a mage... where did you come from?"

Neria glanced to Alistair as he was tugged off by Soris to fill a glass with ale, Leiliana by his side. The small house of the hahren was filled with the people they'd saved from the Tevinter slavers, the air warm and rich with the spread of food prepared for them. Her cheeks coloured, "Here, ser. Well... originally..."

"I remember the day the templars took you," he quietly said, taking Neria's hand in his weathered grasp. "Though for the better of many, I have always find it difficult when the Chantry takes our children from us."

"That is kind of you to say."

"I am sorry your parents could not live to see this day."

Neria's stomach twisted, but her voice held, "Oh? We... have not been on speaking terms. They sent letters when I was a girl, but..."

"Your brother should still be here, though I doubt he would remember you."

"Alim?" Neria froze as Valendrian squeezed her hands.

"Yes, he was with me in the cage." The hahren's brow furrowed as he quietly said, "They took your father last week. Your mother was killed in the lockdown."

"Oh."

Zevran appeared by Neria's side, guiding a glass into her hand, "After such a day, my friend, perhaps a drink would suit. It is not so bad, either."

"Thank you," Neria replied, her eyes unfocused as Valendrian spoke a bit more before excusing himself and disappearing back into the house.

"A brother? You have never spoke of such things."

Neria looked at the fire, smiling and accepting someone's hand as they approached. The young girl gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek, offering the Maker's blessing before being tugged away by her mother with an apologetic grin.

"He was a toddler when I was taken to the Tower." Neria flatly said, and her eyes focused back through the house as the sounds faded away. A young man was by Valendrian's side as they wove back through the elves.

"Let me get you another glass, you look parched," Zevran murmured, taking the wooden goblet as the hahren smiled tiredly.

"Neria?"

"Yes, yes, it's her," Valendrian chuckled, waving a hand at the elven mage before adding. "Alim, you remember the fight in the apartments."

"Of course I do." The young man met Neria's eyes, hauntingly similar to her own. "Thank you for saving us."

"It is the least I might do," Neria found her voice and inclined her head, only to find herself caught in his embrace. Flushing, she patted her brother's arm.

"I wish father could have seen you," Alim's voice cracked as he stepped back, fingering Neria's hair. "He spoke of you. Mother never did but... "  
"He did?"

"I'll leave you two." Valendrian nodded and melded into the group of elves. Alistair and Leiliana stood a head above the rest, the only humans present.

Alim smiled through the bruise along his cheek. His hair was ruddy brown and cut short, revealing his ears. "Come on, let's go outside."

"Alright," Neria whispered, finding the goblet back in her hands as she was lead up a ladder out to a view over the channel. The roof of the hahren's home looked down on a meagre garden, and there were buoys in the below water. The night was clear, the moon half full and casting light over the rampart that separated the alienage from the water's edge.

Alim sunk his hands in his pocket, watching her as she fidgeted, finally downing her glass of wine. "I didn't know if you were real sometimes."

Licking the red drink from her lips, Neria looked at him, shifting her weight. Her armour clattered lightly, and she ran a hand down to tug at the jerkin beneath it. She looked in the glass, "Maybe I'm not..."

"Oh come on," he grinned, and they climbed up the wall to sit on the stone rampart. Dangling their feet over the side, they looked over the alienage.

There were lanterns lit along the streets, and a few strung up in the vhenadahl, casting shadows over the people in the streets. It was getting late, and many were wary of curfew, if not still recovering from the illness that swept through.

"What was the Tower like?"

Neria looked into into the tree, "It was the home I knew. They treated me well, I learned a great deal."

"And now you're a Grey Warden?" Alim pulled up a leg, rapt as he watched her.

Neria nodded, looking to him and relaxing a little, "I am. So is my ... so is Alistair, the human man who came with us."

"They treat you well?"

"Who?"

"The humans," Alim smirked, as though it were obvious.

"My friends treat me ... well, they are my friends." Neria grinned, flushing as she looked back into the alienage. "Do other people matter so much?"

"I guess not," he chuckled, following her gaze. "But you're a mage too - I mean, you don't look like a mage, but Maker, the way you fought! I can't imagine many are very glad to see you coming."

Neria grinned, almost rolling her eyes as she muttered, "I don't know about that."

"What? Father would be so proud of you - wielding a sword. Saving us like you did. If only... well..." Alim choked up and looked away, letting go of his leg.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," she whispered. "Valendrian mentioned that he was taken."

"Can't be helped, right?" Alim furrowed his brow as he saw a dog running around. It looked like a mabari. "I know it's not your fault."

"Thank you." There was silence, and the dog looked up and barked. Neria grinned and waved down.

"Is that your mabari?"

"Yes," she grinned, glancing at the young man. "Ualan."

"Mother never wanted a dog around," Alim rolled his eyes, pulling something from his pocket to throw down. Ualan chased it, and the bread roll was soon gobbled up. "She worried a lot about everything."

 _Not about me_ , Neria thought, keeping the smile on her face as she watched Ualan circle back and woof at them.

"Thank you for saving us," Alim suddenly said.

Quirking her brow, Neria glanced at her brother and said, "It's what I do."

* * *

"Please keep in touch? It - I mean it never bothered father that you were a mage. It doesn't bother me." Alim squeezed her hand, even as Neria withdrew.

"I will do what I can. I head to war."

"Oh...right." Alim shook his head as he muttered, "Sorry. I know Valendrian has already sent out a call for volunteers."

"The Blight threatens us all."

"Yeah," The young man shifted his weight, before saying, "Mother kept me away from swords a lot. I can cook a mean stew though?"

"Better than me," Neria weakly smiled, clasping her hands over her chest to bow as she saw Zevran sloshing out the door. "I must return with my companions."

"Maker watch over you, Neria."

"And you, Alim." Neria clasped her hand over the small charm he'd given her, concealing it as she sidestepped to catch Alistair as he came out the door.

"I suppose it is getting late."

"Getting early is more like it," Leiliana grinned, giving Alistair a push. "We did rather well for a bunch of - what do they call us? Shemlen?"

"Think you'll be sober in time for the Landsmeet?" Neria smirked as Alistair looked down at her.

"I'm not drunk."

"Oh no, of course not."

Alistair pulled himself up, clearing his throat as Leiliana and Zevran strolled ahead of them. Over the bridge to the market, he stumbled a bit and finally said, "So who was he?"

"What?" Neria's cheeks flushed.

Furrowing his brow, Alistair watched his feet as Neria held his arm. He practically pouted. "That elf. The one you snuck out of the party with."

"Oh-h..."

"You know I don't want to be king," Alistair said in a rush, a flush on his cheeks from the ale. "I love you, Neria."

"What?" Neria couldn't help but giggle, and Leiliana shot a look back at them. "He... he is my brother, Alistair."

"You have a brother?"

Neria produced their papers for the guard at the gate, and they were allowed entry to the markets. The stalls were closed, and beggars slept here and there against walls and barrels. "Yes."

"You never mentioned that." Alistair almost stumbled, and Neria slipped her arm in his, their armour scraping together.

"He was younger than I when I was taken to the Tower," Neria whispered, helping him through the market. "I didn't think Valendrian would remember me - or that Alim would."

"Alim? That him? And he remembered you?"

"Yes," she murmured, "He remembered my hair."

"It is nice," Alistair sighed, and they walked the rest of the way to the gates. Inside the arl's estate, Zevran and Leiliana disappeared to their beds as she hesitated.

"I do not know where your room is," she whispered as he stood up on his own.

"Let me stay with you?"

Neria's cheeks flushed as she glanced down the hall, and Alistair stepped closer, pressing her back against the door to her room. "I - what about the arl?"

"I don't care," he whispered, tracing his fingers through her hair before kissing the edge of her lips. "I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but I just want to be with you."

"Then why do you keep pushing me away?" Neria turned her cheek away, closing her eyes as she felt his breath.

Alistair froze, putting his hand on the doorframe, "I have to do what's right. Don't I? Isn't that all we've done? What is right? What is best for Ferelden? If I'm... Maker, if I'm king..."

"But what about us? Is this right?"

Head lolling forward, Alistair sighed out, unable to quite sober as he strained, "I know what I feel."

"So was this to be a goodbye?" Neria hiccupped and sunk back farther as he swayed, "Perhaps not drunk, but you are not sober. Would you..."

Alistair closed his eyes and reached for her hand, "I've wanted to be with you. You know that. Please... Neria... "

Tilting her chin down, Neria rested her hand back on the latch for the door.

 _I can always feel you - the tug at my soul, somehow made right by you when every other is wrong. The way your smile makes me sing, and every blunder of word and act makes me feel like I am not alone - that I fit in next to you. That we fit together._

"I suppose I'll see you in the morning."

Neria kept her eyes closed, thoughts cloistered as she said, "Yes."

Alistair almost touched her cheek, but closing his hand into a fist he pushed off and walked with uneven steps towards the stairs. Hearing the clank of his boots, Neria opened her eyes, unable to look as she opened the door and fell back into her room.

The feeling was pulling away, the need that was there when he was close, the union of their blood that their sworn duty brought. She could feel the pulse in her temples, and she pulled off her armour, leaving it to clank on the floor. It was dark in the room, the only light and heat from an oil lamp left lit by the bed.

She hated that Wynne was right, that Morrigan was right. The ridiculous selfishness of their acts - she hadn't asked for it, she had not asked to be a Warden, to survive alongside him, to fall into his arms. Her temples would not cease throbbing, and why - why could she see only him? His words filled her mind, laughter and fear, everything they had endured.

Tomorrow she would lose him. The words need not be said, the last kiss need not be given. The sorrow was resonating in her bones and hurting her very soul.

* * *

"Trouble sleeping, sister?"

Pulling her robes closer, Neria turned and nearly toppled her cup of tea. Scrambling, she picked up the dropped buiscuits, almost knocking heads with Riordan as he reached to stop the cup.

"I apologize," he grinned, "I did not mean to startle you."

"It is alright," Neria replied, offering Riordan one of the cookies on her plate. As he took it she looked down and said, "A night that I sleep soundly would be the odd one out."

Taking up the plate, Riordan motioned to the bench by the fire, and they moved to sit. Cupping her mug of tea, Neria stared at the dwindling embers.

"Such is our lot. I remember my first days." Riordan broke the biscuit, eating it before adding, "They are different for me now, the dreams. That they have returned."

"How so?"

Stretching his feet out, Riordan said, "They are more complete. More coherent."

Eyes dark with fatigue, Neria watched the embers, "I don't know if that would be more disturbing or not."

The man chuckled oddly before eating another bit of biscuit, "I am not sure of that myself."

They sat in the cold kitchen eating the breads, and Neria drank her tea. Some time passed before he spoke.

"So our brother goes before the Landsmeet on the morrow?"

"So far as I can tell," Neria replied. "I know he very much wishes to stay dedicated to our duty."

"He is a good man. He might even make a good king," Riordan said. "Maker, listen to me. We will get our order thrown from Ferelden again."

"It all seems too much coincidence."

"Perhaps. Though it has sounded like you have had much influence across the land."

"Not by choice."

Riordan stood up and put the kettle over the fire, adding another log. The dry wood caught and the room brightened. "But you have done it none the less."

"To raise an army for the Blight. To stop the civil war so maybe people will concentrate on what really matters."

"I apologize, I did not mean to infer anything."

Neria covered her brow, setting her mug on the bench beside her, "No. I am sorry, ser. I am tired."

"As we all are."

Cheeks colouring, Neria said, "Yes. And it will not improve."

Riordan sat back down beside her, crossing his ankles over and stretching his feet toward the fire. "For one so young, you hold few illusions about what comes."

"I have been in the field for months," Neria whispered, a quick motion of her hand and the right phrase causing the fire to roar up hot. "I have seen so much. But you have too."

"Yes. But I am old enough to be your father."

Neria turned her fatigued eyes to Riordan, "That does not excuse anything you have gone through."

"Perhaps not," he grinned.

"Will you help us with the army? I know so little..." Neria shivered, pulling into herself as she suddenly said, "I know so little about any of it, but everyone turns to me. I am trying to learn, to stay strong, to make the right decisions... but what if I am wrong? How many people will die?"

"I have no military mind. You have fought as many darkspawn as I, if not more."

Neria ran her hands over her face, shuddering again and Riordan touched on her knee. Flushing, she dropped her hands and looked down, "And people. I kill so many."

"It is your duty." Riordan withdrew his hand, leaning to take the kettle from the flame. He filled his mug before topping Neria's too, the dark leaves floating in the water. "I intend to return to Ostagar to learn of the horde's movement. I will help you through this. Ideally, you and Alistair might join me, but... you must lead your army."

Neria shook her head, hugging the cup close, leaning over the warm steam, "My army. It is no such thing."

"Then whose is it, sister?" Riordan grinned tiredly before drinking his tea, "Act with virtue and confidence, and they will follow you. As, from the sounds, so many already do."

* * *

A quiet knock roused Neria's attention from where it had drifted unfocused out the window. The door opened and Wynne and Leiliana walked in, the bard breaking a pastry as she smiled.

"Good morning, sweetness."

Neria looked away as she tightened the strap on her armour, sucking in a breath to pull the cuirass flush. Leiliana stepped up and bade the elf raise her arms, helping to secure the rest of her straps and adjust the mail beneath.

"I am sorry for what I said, child."

The elf raised her brow looking back as Leiliana helped her with her greaves. "For what, Wynne?"

"You and Alistair deserved the happiness you had. You helped each other through so much, I wanted you to know I was wrong. It was not selfish, you cherished what you had."

Neria tugged away from Leiliana, offering a small thanks as she picked up her helm. It was something they'd found in Honnleath. She ran her hand over the bronzed wings on either side before donning it. "Has everyone eaten?"

"Yes, the arl had a great feast laid out for us," Leiliana said, brow furrowing as she watched Neria move.

"Good. Then we meet out at the gate in ten. Let us get there in good time and make the best impression we can."

Leiliana touched her arm, and the elf leaned to accept a quick hug before the bard slipped out the door. Wynne lingered as Neria latched her sheath and tucked the dagger under her things.

"Is there something more you wish, Wynne?"

The elder mage leant onto her staff, still watching Neria check the last things before their eyes met. "You were good for each other."

Trying to harden her heart, Neria could only speak in a whisper to keep from choking, "We will always be Grey Wardens. We still have the Blight to defeat."

"I am so sorry, my dear," Wynne said, touching Neria's shoulder.

Striding by, Neria shouldered her satchel and said, "Of anyone, you have shown me the duties I must uphold. As you said... I cannot be selfish."

Wynne's reply was ignored as Neria walked into the hall, leaving the door open behind her.


	29. The Landsmeet

Zevran put his hand out to stop Neria, his expression hardening. Alistair frowned at the Antivan. Walking through the streets to the palace, the sun was warm overhead, the air heady with the scent of churned fields and a sea-fresh breeze.

"We are not alone."

The way-gate behind them closed and cornered off the street, and a man stepped into view.

"I should have expected we couldn't take you by surprise."

Taking two steps forward, Zevran placed himself in front of Neria, and Leiliana ran her hand up the recurve of her shouldered bow.

"Taliesin."

"You know, I hadn't quite believed when they said you had joined up with your mark." The lithe man glanced to the wings, and the glint of steel caught in the sunlight as he hopped down from his vantage. "The great Zevran Arainai."

"You were a fool to come here."

"Oh, I don't know," Taliesin laughed, he flipped and toyed with a slender dagger like a miniature baton, "I had to see for myself if it was true."

"So you have seen. Now go."

"You can still come back with me, Zevran. We'll dispose of the mage and templar and come up with a story for the Masters. We could be back in Antiva City and leave this wretched place behind, mmm?"

"Zev..."

The Antivan glanced back as Neria spoke, using the motion to count the archers poised along the rampart, and the fleck of leather hidden amidst the crates. He knew there were more unseen.

"Just go, Taliesin. My business is no longer with the Crows."

Still maintaining his superior position, Taliesin's grin was wry, "You know as well as I you can't simply walk away."

"There are things of greater concern afoot. Right now, the Crows are the least of my worries." Zevran 's eyes hardened as his hand fell along his belt and his voice grew cavalier, "Certainly you have heard of the prowess of the Grey Wardens who defeated me. If I could not finish the job, what makes you capable?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you couldn't make the kill," Taliesin replied, and following the words an arrow flew, clattering over the edge of Alistair's pauldron. In seconds, the contingent of Crows was upon them.

Grimacing, Zevran leapt into the fray with a shick of his blades, met head on by two of the assassins. Drawing her own sword, Neria pivoted to block a shot as another man fell upon her.

Pushing her attacker back, Neria spun and sliced the shimmering blade through the man's neck, nearly biting her tongue as she hit bone. Blood spattered her armour as she tugged her sword free, and in the distraction was kicked off balance.

They fought in close quarters, and Neria was unable to raise any of her defenses, swordsmanship floundering against those born and bred to kill. Bleeding from a wide gash down her side, she staggered back and dropped her sword. Manipulating the ether, she summoned forth a blast of cold to hamper the encroaching Crows.

The sound of metal clanking and the whiz of arrows amidst the verbal foray nearly distracted her, but Neria held her ground and looked to the sky. Drawing down the necessary force, her eyes clouded with the precise words on her lips, tugging at the unseen to bring forth the gale.

Stumbling out of the cold beside Alistair, they both gasped for air, the rush of wind beckoning them back into the whip of ice and snow. Neria closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, senses blurred as she gathered herself. Her staff caught as she tried to pull it from the sling on her back.

A hand snagged her belly, and pulled off balance, Neria fell back against her attacker, the blade at her throat snagging on the mail. Flakes of snow fluttered across her vision as Zevran stepped out of the snowstorm in pursuit.

The blade pulled over the mail, the pressure sliding up her throat as Taliesin said, "Now I finish what our dear Zevran could not."

Flipping the dagger in his hand, Zevran stepped and flicked it through the air. The blade snapped by Neria's head and embedded in Taliesin's neck. A warm gush spilt over the mage's shoulder as she scrambled away. Fingers tightening on her staff, the entropic energy swirled up through his core and sucked the life away.

Shuddering, the cut on Neria's neck closed itself as Taliesin slumped to the ground. The last vestiges of the blizzard blew away, leaving a grisly chill over the bodies in its wake.

Zevran stepped in to catch Neria as she slumped, clutching her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, even as his eyes flickered to Taliesin's body.

"Did he hurt you, _tesaro_?"

"No more then I hurt him..." Neria pulled herself up, blinking lengthily as she scanned for her sword. The crackle of static tension over its blade drew her eye. Sinking to her knees by it, some of the iced ground cracked, and she looked through her pack for a poultice.

"We're going to be late," Alistair hovered nearby, wiping the blood from his stubble.

"I need a moment," Neria whispered, cracking open the side of her cuirass. Her head throbbed as Leiliana frowned at Alistair and knelt to help her bandage the wound. "Clean yourselves off."

* * *

Stumbling aside, Ser Cauthrien felt a trickle of blood on her lip, and she tightened her grip on the Summer Sword. When the rock hit her, she fell back another step and growled in frustration.

"Just let us in! We have every right to be there," Neria demanded, standing by the back door of the receiving chamber. "Save your energy for the Blight."

"You have already besmirched my Lord enough! Your presence in the Landsmeet is a sham."

"He is the rightful heir to the throne – King Calenhad's own blood." Leiliana said, poised to match one of the archers who leaned into the safety of a column.

Ser Cauthrien balked as she sized them up once more. Three of her men lay dead, and the quiet huffing of another as he tried to dislodge his frozen foot from the stone floor proved that their numbers meant nothing against the seasoned Wardens.

"You were at Ostagar. You have served your Lord well and faithful… but he has gone too far."

A frustrated huff in her throat, Ser Cauthrien ordered her men at ease, wiping the blood from her nose, "I will lose no more men fighting my own countrymen."

Neria took the few steps down and exhaled, pulling off her helm and running a hand through her pale hair. "Thank you."

Ser Cauthrien merely nodded and waved her men aside, watching the elven mage with hawkish eyes as she approached the assembly doors. Dismissing her defensive auras, Neria waited by the door, unwilling to meet Alistair's gaze.

Turning the wide latch, Alistair pushed the door open for Neria, and they walked into the wide chamber side-by-side. The few banns and lesser landholders close to the door turned at their entry. Loghain and Eamon's voices echoed across the space. The nobles parted as the two armoured Wardens walked through their ranks, boots clinking on the fine carpet underfoot.

When Loghain saw them, he motioned through the ranks and addressed the assembly, "And here she is – the puppet master herself come to try and pull my strings. I did not think you would have the gall to show your traitorous face here."

Even as a light colour rose on her cheeks, Neria's hand tightened on the helm in her hand, "We have never been traitors, Teryn Loghain. We stood by King Cailan and barely escaped with our lives!"

"An easy enough story to tell." His armour glistened in the morning light that came through the windows as Loghain turned to the nobles. "This elven mage would have you believe the Grey Wardens acted in his majesty's best interest at Ostagar. She neglects the false promises and bravado of her Commander, and now she has raised an army to march on Denerim! Tell me, how much did the Empress buy your loyalty for?"

A murmur went through the gathered crowd, and Neria swallowed the rage to clip, "We have gathered an army to face the real threat to Ferelden – to all of Thedas – the Blight! While you have pandered for power and squandered good men by instigating civil unrest."

"The Warden is right! The south has already fallen, Loghain. Lothering and West Hills are lost." Arl Wulff leant on the banister from above, speaking over the crowd. "How many more must die for fear of Orlais?"

Arl Bryland nodded from his lofty position, "South Reach is flooded with refugees, and has been for months. We have all seen the camps outside of Denerim – we grow close to disaster with the lands lost, and the fouled fields go unplanted! How will our people feed themselves, Loghain, let alone send their men to fight?"

"I have seen the plight myself, Bryland," Loghain assured them, his voice tempered as his gaze drifted. "All the more reason that we must unite under one banner and cease fighting each other. Something this Warden would not have you do! Instead, she and Arl Eamon would purport to raise an inexperienced, unproven whelp."

"On my sister's name, I swear he is King Maric's son," Eamon hammered the banister, "He is the last of the Theirin bloodline."

"It does not change the fact that Ferelden has a fine ruler – one that this elf has tried hard to remove from her position." Loghain smouldered as he stepped closer to Neria, "Tell me, Warden, just what did you do with my daughter?"

"I think I can speak for myself, Father."

The crowd of nobles turned at her voice, and Loghain lost his footing, "Anora?"

Hands clasped together and face a picture of regality, the stern woman glided into the room, "Good nobles of Ferelden, in my grief, I allowed my father, a great hero of our land in his own right, to take up my duties and fell to the shadows while our lands have suffered – and for this, I am sorry.

"But the Grey Warden speaks true. There is a Blight on our lands, and my father has done nothing but harm the capabilities of all our men to unite and face it head on. We have spilt each other's blood, and it was only through the Wardens' help that I escaped from imprisonment within Rendon Howe's estate."

Licking her lips, Neria's voice rose up, "The Queen speaks the truth. And I am sorry to say she was not the only one trapped within those walls."

"I wanted to protect you from this, Anora… has the Warden poisoned even your mind against me?"

"That monster imprisoned my son!" Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak cried, his voice fraught with emotion, "The things they did to him, by the Maker – the healers do not know if he will ever walk properly again! I dread to think what may have happened had the Wardens not saved him…"

"And what of my brother, Loghain? What cause could the Arl of Denerim have for imprisoning a templar?" Murmurs ran through the crowd as another few voices rose and clashed

Neria tightened her hand into a clammy fist, hot under her armour as she realized Loghain was staring at her. "If Teryn Loghain had not tried to have Arl Eamon assassinated by a blood mage – a blood mage on the verge of being brought to justice by the Chantry – Howe would have never imprisoned Bann Alfstanna's brother."

"What is this? What does she speak of Eamon?"

From his place on the floor, Bann Teagan's voice rose up, "The mage in question was captured and turned over to the Circle. He confessed to being hired by Loghain to poison my brother."

"You would trust the words of a blood mage? Of any mage?" Loghain scoffed.

Another scuttle of arguments erupted when the Grand Cleric's voice cut through, "You reach too high when you deign to obstruct Chantry affairs, Teryn Loghain. It is an offense against the Maker to interfere in a templar's sacred duties!"

The sweat on Neria's brow and neck chilled, and she had to tighten her fist again to keep from trembling as she looked around. The nobles were roused against him, and their voices escalated until Anora raised a hand. Loghain's gaze went from her to the assembly.

"Arl Howe's actions were his own, and I cannot deny his treachery. Recompense will come." Loghain inhaled deeply, looking amidst the nobles, "But it did not keep this woman from slaughtering him in his own home! She denied justice and due process, preferring murder and bloodshed to proper judgement."

"He deserved to die for what he did!" Bann Sighard pushed off the banister, spitting on the ground. "The blessed Prophet smiled on us, sending us these Wardens to guide us through the darkness – and you have done nothing to help them!" A drum roll of smacks along the wooden rail followed his words. "Dragon's Peak stands with the Warden."

"They have acted against the Blight without hesitation. The Waking Seas will follow the Warden."

Crossing his arms, Arl Bryland nodded, "South Reach is with the Wardens."

"The Western Hills throw their lot with the Wardens. Maker help us all."

More and more of the banns voiced their support, with only Bann Ceorlic's nay squeaked in denial. The chorus of voices rose, and a shiver ascended Neria's spine as she glanced to Alistair. He looked lost.

When the rumble of smacking hands and claps died down, Loghain's hard voice broke out, "Traitors! Who fought while Orlesian troops battered your lands and raped your wives? I have spent my life fighting for Ferelden, fighting for all of you!

"How dare you judge me! Eamon, you fought for this land once – before you grew too old and fat and complacent, you don't even see what you risk." The guards flanking Loghain drew their swords.

Neria turned to the nobles, raising a hand to try and calm their shouts, when Alistair strode up to Loghain and said, "You profess yourself Reagent and uphold the charade of accord - you say you want the nobles to unite. But now you will not abide by their wishes? Then let us end this."

"You would duel me, boy? Or would you prefer your elven companion to do the work? I hear that is what you are wont to do."

Alistair clenched his jaw and glanced between the guards flanking Loghain. "I will. Enough blood has been spilt over this."

Neria glanced from Alistair, loathe to look away as she asked the assembly, "Will that be accepted by the Landsmeet?"

"As long as it is done properly," Arl Bryland stated.

"Yes – according to tradition," Bann Alfstanna agreed. "That you meet in single armed combat until one party yields. We who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

"Then let's end this."

Alistair nodded and drew his sword as a hush fell over the assembly. Loghain followed suit, eyeing the young man who steeled the Grey Warden shield on his arm. Neria stepped back as Zevran whispered something, the words lost in her distraction.

When they circled again, Loghain's rich voice stood out in the quiet, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Neria clenched her hands at her side as she watched Alistair, his concentration wholly upon the man who had betrayed them – the man who had left their order to die. A thought came to her from where it all had began.

 _Make your opponent control the distance of the fight._

Poised in a stance Neria recognized well, Alistair remained silent as Loghain swayed the longsword in his hand, and with a quick double step engaged. The clang of their swords rang through the hall, and in her periphery she could see nobles cringe, murmurs and gasps audible as a series of blows were traded back and forth. Seeing an exposure, Alistair pressed in and quickly battered his shield across Loghain's outer thigh.

Rounding back, the teryn smirked and flexed his fingers over the pommel. Aggressively drawing Alistair into another fray, their swords flew together, a flurry of flashing steel that glanced back and forth. Loghain seized as the ex-templar left himself open, twirling his blade to land a pommel blow hard across Alistair's trapezius.

Neria released a pent breath and choked out a sound, scarce noticing as Leiliana touched her arm. She had fought beside him countless times, held her hands to compress a wound more than she liked, but she had been with him. Being a spectator on the sidelines was much worse.

Stumbling from the impact, Alistair's shield smacked the ground as he backed away, turning to block another slash just in time. He glanced at her before darting to parry another blow.

Rolling into another exchange, their swords caught together, and Loghain kept close, speaking under his breath. "You know, your father had a thing for elven whores."

Alistair's scowl deepened and ripping away with a sharp cry, he flowed and slashed across the backs of Loghain's legs, before following with a hard thrash from his shield. The teryn lost his balance, armour clattering as a speckle of blood splashed the stone underfoot.

Almost on his feet again, Loghain spat on the ground and abandoned his shield as Alistair came round. Hissing with exertion, a righteous fire burst in the air before him, sending a shockwaved nimbus outward. Neria clutched her breast as the edges of the sphere buffeted against her, and Loghain stumbled off-kilter once more. Shield scything through the air, Alistair battered the teryn with a triplet of scarce deflected blows. When the edge of his fiery sword came round, it caught a chink in the mail, and bearing his weight into it, he ran Loghain through. The teryn cried out a gurgle of pain, and a gasp went through the crowd.

"Father!"

Loghain's hands clutched where the sword impaled him and collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath as Alistair pulled the blade out. "It... it seems I have underestimated the both of you."

Anora fled to her father's side, veneer broken as she caught his shoulder. Lips trembling, she glared at Alistair as the tip of his sword hit the floor. "You!"

"Hush, Anora." Loghain whispered, blinking lengthily as blood seeped through his gauntleted fingers. "It is too late. I deserve my fate."

"I am not a child! You - heal him!" Anora's eyes groped for Neria, who had paled considerably.

"Daughters are eternally no more than six in their father's eyes," Loghain sank forward onto a hand, the wet sounds of his breathing echoing through the chamber. "I knew this would be the end."

"It is cruel to let a man suffer," Zevran said under his breath.

"I know I ... can leave Ferelden in your hands," Clutching the wound, Loghain's gaze swept from Neria up to Alistair. He was met with cold eyes as his own closed, and Alistair lifted his sword. In one fell swoop, it sizzled and sliced through, and Loghain slumped down.

Neria's lips pressed into a grim line, watching the pool of blood spread as Anora stepped back, turning to don the mask of authority once more. Alistair stood, eyes upon the fallen teryn as his boots parted the seeping crimson.

Eamon's voice broke the stunned silence, "It is settled then. Alistair shall be king."

Neria turned at once as Alistair squawked, "What? No - no, that wasn't what we were deciding. Was it?"

Eyes trembling as a pair of guards came to retrieve her father's body, Anora's jaw hardened as she marched forward and lifted her chin, "See? You hear him. He does not even wish to take the throne."

"Don't be ridiculous, Anora," Arl Eamon scowled and crossed his arms. "It was decreed that the Landsmeet would honour the outcome of the duel."

As they spat back and forth, Neria's eyes remained on Alistair, and his caring eyes seemed further and further away. He tried to interject, but it was only when Bann Teagan stepped up that the bickering died.

"What the Landsmeet agreed to, brother, was to side with the choice of the Grey Warden. She is the impartial voice in these matters."

"Yes," another voice rose, "What does the Warden say?"

Hands numbed by her side, Neria felt the warmth in her bleed away. All eyes turned to her, but the ones that burrowed most of all were his.


	30. Drums

Neria drew the curtains over the setting sun and lit a fire before shucking her armour. It seemed like an eternity since she had woken that morning, and the effects of the day weighed her down. She piled the pieces on the floor to be shined - it was a luxury that a servant came for them.

She ran her hands through her hair, closing her eyes as she changed into a simple cotton shift. The room was warm and smelled of summer, the scents of blossoming trees flowing in the window. It seemed so far away from the ranks of soldiers and meetings of the day. Neria passed a hand over the large seal that sat beside the papers she had to go over in the morning - the General's seal.

There came a soft rap at the door.

"Come in," Neria gathered her hair behind her, its length to her shoulders.

There was the click of the door shutting, "Room for me here?"

The fatigue wiped away with her smile as Neria turned, and Alistair stepped closer, clad in a simple shirt and leather breeches. She hadn't seen him all day.

"Always," she whispered.

Alistair's cheeks flushed as he stepped forward, the colour running to the tips of his ears. "I... I don't know what to say. At the Landsmeet..."

His words cut away as Neria crushed close and pulled him to her lips. Alistair closed his eyes, hands clutching her shirt as their lips parted, and he inhaled a sharp breath when their tongues met. His fingers bunched in the faded white cotton as his lips spilt over her cheek, kissing innumerable times as their faces tucked into each other's necks.

"Maker... thank you, my love."

Neria trembled and tightened her arms around his neck, cradling the back of his head as he bent over her. "Thank me? It was selfish. I - I could not do it."

"You aren't angry at me? These weeks... it..."

"No, no, I don't care. I don't care about any of it." Neria's eyes welled with tears, and her fingers dug through his hair. "I love you."

Alistair drew her back and smeared his thumb over her tears. Their foreheads touched, and each closed their eyes, tangled around each other. "I've never been so relieved in my life. I... I would have done it."

"I know," she whispered, clutching his shirt as they stayed together.

"Eamon... did you see Arl Eamon's face?" Alistair almost laughed, "I thought he was going to have a heart-attack right then and there. But... but Ferelden has their ruler."

Neria kissed him again, her eyes swimming as she buried her face against his chest. Alistair tangled his fingers in her hair, quiet as he tried to comb through the pale tresses. Resting his lips atop her brow, he closed his eyes, letting his hands drink her in.

"We're together then? In this for the long run?"

"We still have a war. We still have the Blight." Neria's words muffled against him, and she squeezed him tighter, nearly crying again. "I wish this were the easy part."

"Oh right, that," Alistair murmured. "It feels like it is. When does the army march?"

"A week." Neria made a sound as he tugged her hair, untangling his fingers. He murmured an apology as she said, "Can we not think of any of that right now? It's all I've heard all day. Ranks, appointments, plans and..."

"Right, sorry." Alistair dipped his head to kiss her neck again. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," Neria breathed, shivering as his lips traced her ear. "Did... did I do the right thing? You still... want me?"

"Yes and yes again," he breathed by her ear, flicking his tongue over it and drawing another tremble. Alistair smiled. "Maker's breath, if anything is right, this is."

Neria kissed him as he caught her thigh, lifting her into his arms and bringing them face to face. Ruffling her fingers through his hair, their tongues meshed, breath quickening as Alistair took to the bed. She cringed as he pressed her against the covers, and muffled apologies as he shifted his weight off her injury. Neria seized the moment to pull off his shirt, feeling her responsibilities drain away.

He was here in her arms, his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, his sighs and life skin to skin.

"I'm yours," she whispered, fingers snagging in clothing as they rolled. Neria lifted her arms to let him pull off the shift, pale skin golden in the firelight. Just his breeches left between them, she ground her hips down, leaning over to kiss him, her pale tresses a curtain set aglow.

Alistair squeezed her backside as they kissed, their tongues dancing together with a learned finesse. When Neria moved, he urged his hips against her, heart thudding with the desire she wrought. In his hands, her skin, her lips, that which he thought was lost.

No longer a king's bastard, an heir, or a threat. They were two soldiers in a war, two Grey Wardens finding their reason to fight.

"My mage," he murmured as she stripped off his pants, and he grinned at the devious glance she bestowed. Running his hand up her inner thigh, they kissed again, and Alistair moaned as her icy touch descended his spine.

A hazy glow followed Neria's fingers as they traced the curve of Alistair's pelvis, and he kneaded her buttocks and pulled her close. Unable to keep from smiling, her lips were lopsided as he kissed her. Alistair nipped into her neck when she laid her head back on the bed, leaning over to pull her leg round his waist. His breath was hot on her skin as she stroked down his arousal, and his fingers tightened in her skin.

"My knight," she purred, exposing her neck to his tongue and lips, breast pressing his palm. He nipped her skin again, drifting to toy with her nipple and drawing a sigh.

"Not a templar?" Alistair murmured against her skin, moving to take the little nub in her mouth, smiling as Neria squirmed. He closed his eyes as she answered with a tease of her own, and he pressed eagerly into her hand.

"Now you want to be?"

Alistair rumbled and bit her breast, drawing a squeak from the elf even as she rose to meet him. Her fingers grew chilled again, and he closed his eyes, steadying himself over her as she stroked. He pinned Neria's leg around his waist as he ground his loins against hers, she squeezed when he exhaled against her bosom.

Neria's fingers ruffled over his hair and dragged down Alistair's stubbly cheek. His eyes opened, looking over the hills and valleys of her body as he rested his chin into the lee of her breast. "My templar."

Crawling up her body, Alistair kissed her roughly, parting her lips to wrest their tongues together. The chill flared against his abdomen, and he groaned as Neria slipped to guide him against the damp heat between her thighs.

"My love," she sighed. With a wiggle and tense of thighs, he pressed himself in, mouth breaking off to huff against her neck.

"Yes," he breathed, coiling his arms around her slender frame to press their sweat-warmed skin together. Rolling his hips, Neria gasped in, head pressing amidst the pillow of her snowy hair as he kissed and suckled down her neck.

Unconsciously tracing a whitened scar over his hip, Neria arched and fell into the rhythms of their bodies. Fingers plying skin, toughened and calloused, softened thin where leather rubbed, and scratched and bruised, it didn't matter. When his arm slipped around her shoulder to clutch her close, her eyes closed, lost in the stick of their skin and heavy breaths.

Lips parting to cry out, Neria arched off the bed as Alistair sighed by her ear, gripping his shoulder as he fell into an erratic pace. Her pulse strummed in her loins, the wash of pleasure through her liberating. His hand slipped in the covers beside her head, and she re-linked her ankles together behind his waist as his buttocks tensed.

Holding himself from collapsing on her, Alistair rest his forehead on the coverlet beside Neria's head, panting by her ear. Shifting her knee higher, she pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his head and shoulder. Closing her eyes, she melted back into the bed without coordination or thought.

Weight on his knee, Alistair kissed her neck, eyes closed as he breathed heavily through his nose. Rolling aside, Neria followed him, pulling into the crook of his arm and draping her leg over him. Kissing her forehead, he brushed the hair from her face before his hand dropped onto the bed.

"I love you," Alistair whispered.

Eyes half-lidded, Neria twirled her fingers over the jagged and crisp scars that stood out over his muscular chest and stomach. With a murmur, the chilled touch returned, and Alistair squirmed. "And I you."

Rolling towards her, Alistair snagged the coverlet and threw it over them, cradling Neria against him. Kissing her forehead, he closed his eyes and sighed as she let the bit of magic go, nestled skin to skin as she touched wherever she could with slow strokes.

Soft murmurs led to slow breaths, and as Alistair slipped deeper into sleep, Neria still lay in his embrace, listening to the even sound and caressing him.

* * *

A hush in the mind roused from the darkness to show a vast land of crimson skies and choked smoke. The horde swayed with a zealous rhythm, eager and bloodthirsty, fervour-filled and worked to breaking as they trampled the blighted land. The steady meter of sound was a beat in her heart, nothing more, no hint of the true song that drove them on.

Dragged through the hundreds, she moved on wings of wind, immaterial and untouchable, until she felt the dirt pressing her knees, the blood seeping against her skin, and the sickly chill that killed the land around them.

Cringing down, she clutched her ears as sound pierced the faded sky, and the edges of her vision blurred into darkness. The world trembled into diplopia and tears burnt her eyes as the screech grew. Cowering lower, the beat of wind encouraged her downward crush, and the dry air scorched hot as she shuddered and cried, her own anguished sounds drowned out.

When the next scream came, it was deep and multi-toned, ripping through the air and trembling her core. Her life bled away, a cold and empty a husk remained. Lifting her face, the dragon's head whipped to her, and the immolating fire came.

Neria's hands tightened on skin and her eyes sluggishly opened to see Alistair shaking her awake.

"You were weeping," he whispered, face drawn and ashen.

"The archdemon," she whispered, flexing her shaking hands.

Alistair lay back and pulled her into his arms, the sheets tangling around their nude bodies as he said, "I saw it too." He was trembling.

Eyes wide, Neria stared over his chest as Alistair worked his fingers into her hair. Her heart was racing and her lips were chapped, and somehow she could feel the heat still. The fire had died and it was dark in the room, still the middle of the night. "It is closer."

"Yes," was all he could say, holding her as he stared at the canopy of the bed, unwilling to close his eyes.

"They are coming for us."

Laying in the dark, they didn't speak, huddled close and feeling the solidity of each other's presence. Neria stared at the curtains, a cold sweat on her skin. Neither slept the rest of the night.

* * *

The archers formed ranks with precise speed, the first row kneeling as a second and third positioned at their flanks. Bows taught, the order went out and the string's snapped, a whicked chorus following the volley of arrows that pelted the distant targets. Nodding in approval, the Dalish Field Marshal moved amidst the soldiers, criticizing and correcting where needed. She paused when she saw Neria, Sten and Alistair alongside.

"Warden, it's good to see you again."

Neria inclined her head as Mithra bowed, "And you. Thank you for taking the position."

"It is an honour to be able to lead my people under your command."

A runner dodged through the flowing groups of soldiers and stopped as he saw Sten. Neria spoke with Mithra a moment more before turning to accept the missive.

"Find Bann Teagan, Dulin - he'll be at the dwarven encampment - and the other Marshalls. Tell them to meet outside the command tent." Neria sighed as she passed the scroll to Alistair and turned to Mithra. "Have you much experience with darkspawn, Mithra?"

"I'm afraid not. Our clan encountered a scouting band, but it was not on my watch."

"Then come."

Striding through the expansive camp of soldiers stationed beyond the fork of the North and West Roads, Neria maintained a firm posture and was quick to acknowledge those who approached her. They greeted her respectfully, her ancient elven armour shined to a gleam.

"Maker's breath," Alistair murmured as they walked, tucking the scroll in Neria's satchel. "Hopefully we can prevent a panic."

Neria's kept astride as he and Sten spoke of the scroll - a scouting party of darkspawn had been sighted heading towards the refugee camp outside the city walls. Passing the Circle tents, her stride broke when she saw Jowan amidst their ranks. He lifted a hand in greeting, though she only nodded before continuing on.

"Was that...?"

"Yes," Neria said under her breath, feeling Mithra's eyes upon her. "The Circle was decimated. It's..." She shook her head. "I can't think of it."

Ducking into the command tent, Alistair followed Neria to her private partition as she slipped her staff into the sling over her shoulder. "This will be a lesson for them. Hopefully it will impart something they can pass on to the troops."

Alistair nodded, handing her a poultice.

"I will be support. We don't need anyone seriously injured before we take the horde head on."

"Right," Alistair paused before saying, "You're quite beautiful you know."

Neria smirked, glancing up to him from beneath her winged helm, "Oh?"

"I don't know how you do all this."

Glancing by the baffle, Neria put a hand on his chest and leaned up to kiss him. "Neither do I. Best not question it. And sweet talking won't keep you from staying here." She raised her brow, "You are my lieutenant after all, and I need you to ensure preparations continue as planned."

"I hadn't expected you to lord that one over me," Alistair murmured as they wandered back through the tent. "Shall I address you as miss, madam - m'lady?"

"M'lady will do," Neria grinned tiredly and he smirked. In the background, a wide table displayed a marked map of Ferelden, with weighted pieces in strategic position. She beckoned to one of the men, "Ser Perth, come. Be prepared to fight." Turning to Alistair she added, "Try not to burn the place down."

Leaving Alistair in the tent, Neria secured the last phial in her belt and met with Mithra once more. It wasn't long before the rest of the Field Marshalls joined them.

Sizing up the dwarf beside him, Teagan adjusted his cuirass and asked, "You wished to see me, Warden?"

"Indeed," Neria replied, and as Ser Perth stepped up she motioned for them to move. "Save for Dulin, none of you have much experience fighting darkspawn. There is a scouting band less than an hour away, so let this be your trial by fire."

It took some time to reach the edges of the army camp, and as they walked, Neria discussed the tactics they would use, what she had learned in engaging darkspawn, and her role as a mage backing them. Dulin was an equal partner, offering experiences from the Deep Road as they followed a dirt road between ploughed fields.

Marching to the crest of a hill, Neria signalled their stop. There was the itch of tension within, and her eyes unfocused as she let it fester. "They are nearby."

"How can you tell?" Mithra asked, furrowing her brow as she looked over the undulating farmland.

"Grey Wardens are able to sense darkspawn, it is part of what makes them vital to a Blight," Bann Teagan offered, and Dulin nodded.

Neria strode ahead of them, slipping her staff out. Arms parting to draw the essence from the ether, she murmured the quick succession of commands that projected her halfway to the Fade. Left shimmering gold, a vortex of odd mist swirled at her feet as she turned, "Come."

Ser Perth hesitated as the rest followed in her wake, but drawing his sword he shook the unease and obeyed. The rest drew their weapons as a woman's scream curdled the air, and Mithra drew her bow taut. In an orchard, they saw the darkspawn company, and Neria gave the word to attack.

The hurlocks turned, and the ichors on Neria's soul churned, their guttural cries rising as they sensed her. Arrows flew at her, form flickering as one passed straight through, unable to find purchase. The air chilled, and a genlock about to undercut Teagan froze in place, limbs encased in ice. The bann flowed and cut the darkspawn down, disturbed as it shattered at his feet.

They dispatched the darkspawn with relative ease, despite being outnumbered, and after summoning a healing aura that closed their wounds, Neria came down from the slope to join them. About to speak, the elven mage lifted her head, feeling another gnaw in her soul, when a whispered screech filled the air.

"What is that?" Ser Perth asked, hand on the hilt of his sword once more.

Spinning, Neria drew her sword, unable to meet the rear attack of the shriek in time. Flowing in time with the knight, they knocked the shriek back, and Mithra pinned it to the ground with a precise shot. Pressing forward, Neria stabbed through the shriek's neck with a crackle of lightning along the blade.

Pulling her sword from the corpse, she gave a quick overview of the various darkspawn, their weaknesses, their methods of attack, and the threats presented. They gathered the bodies at her behest, pulling them off the field to pile on the rutted dirt road. She brought with them the two slain farmers.

"Always burn them," she quietly said, a quick spell setting the bodies ablaze. Bann Teagan pulled a scarf across his mouth, concealing the grimace brought by the smell. "The taint of their bodies will continue to defile the land, will sicken animals and livestock, and are still a threat to anyone that encounters them."

"Blessed Andraste, have mercy on these souls in their untimely liberation from this world," Ser Perth said, the rest of his prayer falling into a quiet murmur as he bowed his head.

Neria wiped the blood from her face, much of it smeared down her armour, and when the pyre had fully lit she led them back to camp. "It is your duty to inform your companies of all you have learnt today - and more. Ask rather than assume. These are not a threat like any man. They have not fear, they do not hunger or thirst. They will only stop when slain."


	31. The Loophole

Awake in the night while the army slept, Neria retched out the back of her tent, shivering despite the warmth of the night. She had scarce slept an hour, the dreams and presence of the archdemon all-consuming. A clammy sweat clung to her skin, and she had more and more difficulty keeping food down.

Stockpiling in the city had begun, and the army was only a day from marching to Redcliffe. They couldn't see her like this. She kept her face on before the soldiers, before her marshals and envoys.

Fires smouldered across the camp as she stood up, crossing her arms. It was quiet, and the stars overhead were bright and crisp. How could they sleep? They slept as though it were a night like any other. They couldn't know, they didn't see the vast horde approaching. They couldn't feel it screaming in their veins, blotting into every thought.

Shivering, Neria's insides turned again and she put a hand against the taut rope support, steadying herself as she lost the rest of her stomach. It was dark behind the tent, the shadow of the large central pyre cast around her, blocked from its revealing glow.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Neria moved back through the flap of the tent, collapsing in the chair at the war table. She snagged a water skein and drained it, rinsing her mouth out before drinking a few mouthfuls. Her eyes blurred as she looked over the map, the voices and days spent about it just as effaced as her vision. She put her head in her arms, leaning on the edge of the table.

They were depending on her. All of them. All of Ferelden.

Another flicker of panic went through her, feeling the cry of the archdemon from her memory. A soft sob escaped, and Neria ran her hands through her pale hair, trying to block out the world with her arms.

Who did they think she was? A year ago her greatest concern was someone spilling the inkwell on her writing - or Jowan roping her into something fun but invariably frowned upon.

Opening her eyes, Neria looked at the battered grasses underfoot. There was no floor to the tent, and she could just barely see the broken blades in the dark. She thought about her breathing, her stomach protesting its emptiness, angry and wanting something else to throw. It'd have to wait till morning, - even if she thought to drown it in ale or one of Oghren's spirits that would make her gasp and choke.

The murmur of the guards on watch increased as they passed, and she could hear their footsteps scuffing the ground. She strained to find other things, and a mottle of light danced over her vision as the pyre outside popped and sparked. It was a method she'd always used to still her thoughts, focusing on her senses, thinking about every detail around her.

There was a dried head of sorghum in the grasses.

"Neria?"

Lifting her head, Neria sniffed as she saw Alistair. He was down to just his braies. Straightening her posture, she combed her fingers through her hair.

"You weren't there when I woke."

"Sorry," she whispered, trying to temper the tremble in her voice. She stood up, pulling off her own cloak to throw around his shoulders. It was too small. "Are you not cold?"

There were dark circles under his eyes, but Alistair smiled tiredly anyway, "If I said I was, will you come back with me?"

Neria lazily ran her hands around his waist, and Alistair snagged the edges of the cloak to hug it around her. She rested her forehead on his chest, closing her eyes and breathing him in. "Not sure I'll be sleeping."

"We don't have to sleep," his voice rumbled with mischief, and she poked his side, making him jump.

"Not sure I'm in the frame of mind, however appealing you might be."

Alistair brushed some of the hair form her forehead with his nose, murmuring, "A man can try?"

"You should be trying to sleep while you can."

"So should you."

Neria inhaled through her nose, closing her eyes again as he kissed her eyelids and cheek. "Key word being 'can'."

"Can't if you don't try," he whispered, drawing her back towards their bedroll.

Struggling with her thoughts a moment, Neria hurriedly said, "It's the dreams. They are worse yet."

"Just be with me? We don't have to sleep." Alistair said, gathering her shift and pulling it off with little resistance. Her cloak fell off his shoulders as he tugged her down, and she sat on her knees as he arranged the blankets. "I just – I don't know how much time we have. I just want you near me."

Neria nodded and patted his chest as he pulled her down, covering them both in the wool and linen. There were tears on her cheeks as her thoughts won out.

"Hey, it's not so bad…"

"Oh Alistair," she whispered, burying her face against him and finding haven in his arms.

Alistair ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her head and stroking his fingers down the curve of her neck and shoulder. "It's always been this way."

"I know, I know. There is just so much, I can barely keep myself together."

"But you do," he murmured, plying his fingers down her hip, caressing her body and closing his eyes. "You are more formidable than you know. You frighten half the troops."

"No I don't," Neria almost laughed, voice stuffy as she wiped her knuckles over her eyes.

"Think of the times you've caught me off guard with your magic. Think of all these men and women who've never seen anything like it."  
"Now if only I could scare the darkspawn so easily."

"It would be useful, I can't deny." Alistair grinned as Neria nuzzled her cheek over his bicep, a dampness left behind.

"What will they think when they see the horde if I frighten them." Neria pressed her lips against his chest, closing her eyes again as he combed his fingers through her hair, lightly tugging in the most pleasant way.

"Have to make sure they all use the privy before heading into battle."

Neria almost laughed, shaking her head as Alistair gave her a squeeze. Resting her cheek and ear against him, she listened to the sounds of his breathing. As he settled in the warmth of the covers, she let her fingers trace over the scars on his chest, knowing them by feel more than sight.

"Do you think about what it was like before the war?"

"Sometimes," Alistair whispered, dragging his nose back and forth through her pale hair. "It usually involves some sort of menial punishment or religious scripture, so I don't think of it long."

Neria poked his side and elicited a harrumph of sound, feeling him squirm as she said, "I suppose things just seemed simpler then."

"Maybe," he said. "But I wasn't happy."

"And you are now?"

"Maker, yes." Alistair squeezed her closer, kissing her skin and forcing her to smile. "Yes - yes, especially now that whole king thing is gone, there might be the potential."

"It's my luck you were locked away in an abbey all these years. Else I'm sure you'd be off somewhere content and married with a beautiful wife and children."

"Yes, lucky you," Alistair smirked, "Can't I be content here?"

Neria closed her eyes to keep the thoughts at bay. Her frail heart clawed to demand what he would do if she died, to beg him not to die, anything to keep them from the brutal war. After all these months, after all their fighting, she could not quell the worry. And now – now that he was not going to be stolen away to some duty, it made it all the worse.

"I suppose you can."

"How generous of you."

Swallowing away the emptiness in her stomach, Neria pressed her thigh against Alistair's loins. Fingers down his shoulder, she kissed up into his neck with a sudden urgency, quickened by her thoughts.

"Not in the frame of mind, she says, Maker… don't be cruel."

"Love me," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth before tasting his lips. "Tire me."

Caught in the returned kiss, Alistair closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose, their tongues entangled before he murmured, "If I must."

* * *

Bloodied and battered, Neria panted and limped up the stairs as she tried to gather her senses. The company around her was wounded, and fumbling the phial from her belt, she downed a thick draught of lyrium. Closing her eyes, she felt the clarity renew, vivacious through her limbs, and she sheathed her sword.

Planting her eyes on the team of archers above, Neria vaulted up the stairs after Alistair, and brought forth the vortex of cold. The gunlocks froze in place, ice creeping up their limbs and frosting over their eyes. They were soon cut down, and the castle guards atop the stairs cried out, pointing towards the gate.

They had been battling through the siege of Redcliffe castle, trying vainly to get to the Arl and those trapped within. The ground trembled, and when Neria turned she saw the ogre – as large as the ones from the Deep Roads – barrelling across the bridge.

Wiping the sweaty hair from her eyes, she was back down the stairs, and as she lifted her hands to the sky, was caught in a vice. Neria screamed, her body lifted into the wracking pain, crushing around her chest and limbs. She closed her eyes, unable to keep from spasming as she felt a rib crack. Her armour was ineffectual to the magical vice, and the air squeaked out of her, unable to breath as she trembled and felt the pressure grow behind her eyes.

When finally the spell released, Neria crumpled to the ground, crying out as she stumbled and tried to breathe. Pain lanced up her chest, but she tugged her staff out somehow. Across the courtyard, a summoned rock flew and smashed into the emissary that had sighted her.

"The emissary!" she tried to yell, her voice hoarse and without fire.

Sten's broadsword sluiced through a hurlock, and he turned at her voice, seeing the magic-wielding darkspawn nearby. Charging past where Shale battered one of the alpha-ogre's legs, he soon disembowelled the tainted mage. The dark blood spattered his plate, and he fluidly rotated, the massive sword giving him momentum to slice through the beasts that flanked him.

There was a tingle in her side as Neria staggered forward through the corpses, entropic life drawing into her through the whorling mist at her feet. The cracked rib knit, as she inhaled deeply, manipulating the ethers to call upon creation to heal her allies. The soft blue glow burst in her chest, sparking off her limbs to leave her nearly unharmed.

Neria turned as she heard the ogre cry, seeing it sway and snatch Zevran in its grasp. The Antivan's cry pierced the sounds of melee battle, and the elven mage planted her feet. Summoning the chill between her hands, she huffed the quick command before ensconcing the massive darkspawn in a wreath of ice.

Mid-pummel the beast stopped, its arm falling limp. The ogre's grip loosed and Zevran was thrown to the ground. He rolled away, falling to a knee as he tried to get up.

Each word that manipulated the Fade seemed an arcane prayer, and once more Neria looked to the blighted heavens, drawing down the power to heal her ally. She saw Zevran move, even as her vision blurred, a thud in her temples and chest. Simple bolts crackled to the pinnacle of her staff, charging down her forearm, and the magical orbs tracked her targets without fail.

Nearby the sound of splintering bone rang with another of the ogre's cries, swords engaging the towering beast. When it fell to a knee, Shale stomped the ground, further helping it crumple. Picking up a cart, the golem hurled it at the ogre, and the splinters cracked and embedded in its face. Kipping up its back, Zevran used his dagger for leverage, before stabbing the longsword deep into the base of its neck. A fountain of blood spurted out, and he clamped his mouth shut, looking away as it stained his cuirass.

The last darkspawn fell and there was silence. The continual barrage that had followed them up to the castle and into the courtyard had abated.

Checking on Wynne, Neria left the elder mage to tend to the wounded as she loudly said, "Seal and bar the gate. You, pile the darkspawn and burn them. And by the Maker, be careful."

The soldiers rigidly saluted before moving to task. Nearby, the troupe Ser Perth led took a knee at his behest, their hands clasped in prayer. They had lost a number of men, but overall it paled compared to the amount of darkspawn slain in their press to the castle.

Alistair was on the stairs helping Bann Teagan up as Neria approached.

"Teagan, do you need healing?"

The bann forced a smile, testing his weight, "Just a twisted ankle, I think I got off lucky."

"He can walk it off – isn't that what you always tell me?" Alistair smirked at Neria as he let go of Bann Teagan.

"Yes, well he's twice your age. All the more fragile."

"Ouch," Teagan laughed, gingerly putting the weight on his foot as they walked to the door. "She always like this in battle?"

"If not worse," Alistair murmured, rapping on the wide doors.

Neria peered at him as she slung her staff behind her back.

"What?"

* * *

"Goodnight, my brethren. We march at first light?"

Neria's eyes looked distant as they met Riordan's, "Yes. Be ready by then." She clapped arms with him none the less, and he drew her close in the embrace.

Alistair blanched as they left the room and stood in the dimly lit castle hall. There was only the soft crack of the lamps now and then, muted by the stone.

The castle would try to sleep. Ser Perth had led a contingent to the camp to order them to rest – come first light, they would be turning back to Denerim on a forced march. The horde was not coming for Redcliffe, but was nearly upon the capital, the archdemon at its head. And it was the archdemon they must follow, the lynchpin of the Blight.

Neria's thoughts went a thousand places as she stood by Alistair, both of their eyes downcast, when she finally whispered, "If we'd let Loghain live... he could have been a Grey Warden. He could have been the one to die."

Eyes flashing dark, Alistar looked at her, "What, so he could get the glory? After he declared all Wardens traitors? After he tried to have us killed?"

"Is that what you care about Alistair? Glory?" Neria was blanced as she looked up to him.

The castle was too quiet for her.

Alistair closed his eyes. "What does it matter? He's dead."

Steeled from the tremble threatening to rise, Neria scarce nodded and kept her face down. "We best rest then."

"Yes... soon it ends. One way or another."

"Andraste's mercy..." she whispered, hand over her mouth as she closed her eyes.

"I... I'll be in my room," he quietly said. "Will you come?"

Neria nodded, and she felt Alistair's lips on her brow, before his armoured footsteps clumped down the hall. Her feet moved on their own and soon she stood before the blazing hearth in her bedroom. She took off her helm and dropped it, the metal clattering in the quiet.

There were no more tears to shed. There was no question that if it came between them, she would knock Alistair out and take care of the archdemon herself. Was it as much to give him a life as to save her from having to live without him? Perhaps death would be a welcome rest after all this.

Some said you returned to the Fade when you did not walk by the Maker's side, lost forever between worlds. She had done too much now to garner any special place – too many people had died. Too many had suffered, and were she to bear the chains of her sin… she would be lost.

The fire was hot on her skin, contrasting with the cold air at her back as she lethargically undid her armour. When she put it on tomorrow, it would never come off again. She best enjoy her last night – seek to find skin, and soft blankets, and his strong arms.

Another piece of her armour clattered to the floor. Each one clunked down, her eyes unfocused on the fire, the straps taking a fair bit of time on her own. It was only when she kicked her last greave away that Morrigan spoke.

"I have a way out."

They had spoke less and less over the past months, falling out of the passable camaraderie they had formed.

"What?" Neria asked, and her expression sagged.

"A way out? The loop in your hole? I know what a Grey Warden must do to slay the archdemon," Morrigan glided closer, clasping her hands together. But a foot away now, she added, "There is no reason any of you must sacrifice yourself to do it."


	32. For Ferelden

If she had felt sick before, this ... this was something else. Neria was almost shaking with each beat of her heart. She nodded again, mouth parched as she made for the door.

"And I would do my best to be convincing," Morrigan added.

Neria offered no reply, her soft-soled boots padding on the stone as she found herself back in the dim hall.

 _If Morrigan was not speaking the truth – if she was wrong, she was sacrificing her last night with the man she loved to… No, no don't think. Just do this._

Resting her hand on the door, Neria hesitated before pushing it open. Alistair was dressed down to his shirt and breeches, and setting his whetstone on the bedside table, sheathed his sword and came to pull her into his arms.

"No thinking of anything heroic, alright?" he whispered. Neria trembled, and Alistair tightened his grip around her. "I mean it. Okay?"

Breath against his neck, Neria softly said, "What if one of us doesn't have to die?"

"I – I know it's possible. I know… Riordan will take the blow if he can. But we can't think it won't come to us. To me." Alistair said, running his fingers through her hair to tilt her face up. His expression cracked and he kissed her forehead, cheeks and finally lips.

"Alistair –" Neria pulled back, licking her lips as she paled further.

"Please, I don't want to think. Can we just have tonight?"

Neria's voice cracked, "I – I mean it. What if no Grey Warden had to die, Alistair?"

Pressing his lips together as his brow furrowed, Alistair looked down at Neria before asking, "Why do I have a bad feeling about this…"  
Closing her eyes, Neria tried to steady her breath, "I need to ask you to do something, Alistair. For us."

Alistair ran his hands down her arms, letting go as he looked at her.

Glancing down, Neria closed her eyes and blurted in a whisper, "You need to lay with Morrigan."

"You're kidding me." Alistair turned and threw his hands up, staring at her as he came round, "Ha ha, let's all play a sick joke on Alistair."

Neria cringed down and shook her head.

"You – you really aren't kidding, are you?"

"I wish I were," she whispered.

Alistair looked at the ceiling as he stood still. Neria's hands hung at her side as he quietly groaned, "Maker, of all people…why?"

Neria closed her eyes as she said, "I… I cannot lie to you. It will produce a child."

"What? A child – with her?" Alistair crushed his hands through his hair as he almost paced, before turning to Neria, "Why? Why this, Neria?"

"It is a magical ritual. To … to save our soul from being destroyed. The… the baby… well it's not a baby yet it –"

"No! No, I don't want to know." Alistair waved his hands before placing them on his hips. When he looked back, Neria's face was still down. "This – this is the only way, isn't it."

"I believe so," she replied, finally looking at him. "No more Grey Wardens need die to end this Blight."

Alistair's reply choked in his throat and he pressed his mouth closed. The lamplight flickered in the quiet room, and he finally puffed out the air, "Maker, fine. Yes. I can't believe I am agreeing to this."

"She's in my room," Neria whispered, looking down again.

Averting his eyes, Alistair said, "It has to be now? Tonight?"

"Yes…"

Alistair lifted a hand to touch her cheek, and Neria looked up. His fingers dragged away as he turned and left. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood by the bed, her chin tucked down.

Her lips would be there, her breasts against his skin.

"Maker forgive us," she whispered, cringing into herself as she slumped against the wall and sunk to the ground.

There was no time as she stared at the rough, woollen blanket on the bed. The room was silent and the lamplight steady. Neria's fingers gripped her upper arms, still encased in her own embrace.

Some time she couldn't measure later, the door cracked open and Alistair came in. Neria was on her feet, but he didn't meet her eyes.

"We need to sleep."

Watching him pull back the covers and get into bed, Neria nodded before finding her voice to simply say, "Yes."

Immobile and facing the other way, Alistair stared at the wall as Neria got into bed beside him. He didn't move when she touched his arm, when her fingers ran down his back, and her lips kissed his hair. "Please. Let's get what little sleep we can."

"Of course," came her wounded reply.

* * *

When they arrived at camp in the pre-dawn light, they were faced with a contingent of soldiers who had taken ill after a skirmish in the night. The piles of darkspawn were still burning, and bugels and shouts filled the camp as the Marshalls and lieutenants roused the men.

"They are still alive?"

Bann Teagan walked quickly beside Neria as she strode towards the tent. "Ah - yes, though they are in poor form. We had a Circle healer by who did not think she could do anything for them."

Neria hardened her jaw and nodded, looking aside to say, "Zev, would you come with me?"

"Of course, Warden."

Walking to the tent, Neria dismissed the guards before going in. Whitening eyes and black-cracked mouths met them, and she held Zevran back near the flap. A number of the soldier's roused as she came close, their unseeing faces turning to her.

She could feel the soft whisper in her heart, and Neria frowned as she turned back and whispered, "Stand back."

Her own eyes clouding white, the mage swirled her hands to the heavens as one of the soldiers got up, his words indecipherable. The complex string of ancient words hissed on her tongue before the wind tugged at their knees, and the tent was consumed in a blizzard.

Zevran watched Neria as she hung back at his side, her face devoid of expression as the snow and ice coated the inside of the wide canopy. Her hands hung down, deep lines under her eyes as strands of white hair tugged out from under the edges of her helm, beckoned to the gale.

When the summoned storm faded, the soldiers were left frozen in place, some mid-stride, others still laid up on cots. Neria pulled out her dagger and flatly said, "Help me make sure they're dead."

Outside the tent, the guards watched with uneasy curiosity. When Neria finally emerged, she curtly dismissed them and turned to set the tent ablaze. When Bann Teagan came closer to protest, she cut him off with a wave of her hand. Summoning the nearby runners, she said, "We march within the hour."

Back across the land the army trekked, Neria forcing a hurried pace and unwilling to let the legions rest. Unable to afford any diversions, they cut straight through the blighted land, and at the head of the pack, she led her company against the darkspawn they encountered. They were merciless and efficient, killing and leaving burning pyres in their wake, the black smoke further obliterating the already sickly sky.

Limbs aching, it was late into the second day when they came in sight of the fork where they had camped but a week ago. The fighting never abated, catching the stragglers of the horde with their blades. The Circle mages flitted amidst the soldiers, doing all they could to rejuvenate weary limbs and minds.

Neria's eyes glazed over as she walked to the edge of the ridge. They could see Denerim below, and in her gut the taint tore a path as cleanly as it did upon the land. From this distance she heard the archdemon cry, and glanced to Alistair at her side. The lines in his face were deepened, and his armour was battered and smattered in dried blood.

The city was burning. Claws of smoke dragged up from the quarters, dark against the blighted sky. It was twilight again, and her memory flickered to Ostagar, where snow and rain numbed fingers amidst lightning and screams.

"I should say something, shouldn't I?" Neria whispered, looking down to where the refugee camp had been. What happened to them all?

"Maker's breath, I could try if you'd like?" Alistair murmured.

Neria shook her head, swinging up the steps of a windmill to stand before the army. If not for the curve of the ridge, she might not see them all. They looked like so few, Maker let them be enough. She raised her hand, and more eyes turned to her, the marching legions halting to listen.

"My friends, we are battered and tired, but the fight is yet begun. We face a foe unlike anything we have seen, who will not bend to the usual weapons of war." Neria looked over the fields, pulse thudding her nerves, "You may ask how you - how we will survive, how we can defeat this ungodly foe.

"But know I am just like you - I am a woman, an elf, and a mage. But that is no more than any of you - we are all the same. We are all as powerful, as brave, as strong, and as great. This fight is for you, for all of our children - the Blight must end here!"

A cheer rose up from a section of the army, and Neria moved, her armoured feet clanked the wood underfoot. "We cannot let Denerim fall. The darkspawn will bleed, and the archdemon will die, and all of Thedas will know it was the might of Fereldens - of dwarves, of elves, of men - that wrought it's downfall!

"We fight for the king they stole - for the soldiers who sacrificed their all!" Drawing her sword, Neria lifted it to the sky, and the chorus of sound radiated through the masses. "We fight for our future, for the Grey Wardens - for Ferelden!"

There was the rumble of feet on the ground, and Neria gave the signal, the Field Marshals marked at the heads of their men. She cried the order, scarce breaking over the rise of voices, and the army swelled to descend on the city gates.

Sword tightened in her grip, they led the head of the army through the gates, clashing with the darkspawn and filling the air with screams, metal and death. Neria flowed, bolstered by her magic and faded-gold, to swipe through a genlock, using the downhill momentum to rotate and cut through another.

Their bodies carved under her blade, and hearing a cry nearby she turned and brought forth more. The creationism filled Sten to the tips of his fingers, a mist off his skin as his wounds closed. Pushing off his knee, he swung the massive sword and decapitated a hurlock.

Through the gate, they joined a handful of city guards vainly trying to defend the streets. The city was overrun and almost unrecognizable, with houses flung into apart and burning. The darkspawn were untrained and unorganized, driven by a master buried in their minds. Neria had no need for her magic, and the slaughter bolstered the company of men following her, as the sounds of battle grew distant. She could see Riordan nearby.

"There are two generals in the city, can you feel them?"

Neria directed her troops to the gates to fortify their position. She tilted her head, standing by Riordan as Alistair joined them. "I - It feels different. But there is the archdemon."

"Yes," Riordan added, looking towards Fort Drakon. "In time, they will feel different - moreso, you will learn to distinguish. They are in the city, I cannot say where. But once we engage the archdemon, it will call the generals to him."

"Best dispatch them if we can," Alistair murmured, glancing back to watch a contingent of mercenaries engaged in another assault.

"The archdemon will know we are coming. As much as we can feel it - if not more." Riordan's eyes were distant. The black blood of darkspawn coated his mail. "I will try to draw it to Fort Drakon - it is the highest peak."

"We should stick together," Neria said, furrowing her brow. The clash of horror and pain inside from the darkspawn all around grated her nerves. It was difficult to think.

"No. It will sense me most of all. You two might go with a small group to dispatch the generals - and then meet me on the spire. Should I fail in bringing it down, it will fall upon you to defeat the archdemon."

Alistair pressed his lips into a fine line before he said, "Maker watch over you, Riordan."

"May He watch over us all." Blades still readied, Riordan turned through the mass of soldiers and disappeared into the city.

They watched him go before Alistair said, "That's what Duncan said."

"We must go," Neria whistled sharply, and Ualan ran from his place by the gates to huff at her side. "Come protect us, mm?" The mabari wuffed, his hide spattered with blood.

Dulin was with the soldiers trying to force the gates shut, but they had broken in the assault and left a wedge open. Everyone turned as Neria approached.

"This is defensible. I need most of you to stay here and keep any more darkspawn from entering the city." Neria beckoned her companions closer. Looking way up, she steeled her gaze on the qunari. "Sten, I am leaving it up to you to hold the gates, for Alistair and I must go into the city."

Sten nodded and stared her down, his voice dipping low, "By my life, I will stand against the Blight and let it break upon me."

Hardening her jaw, Neria maintained his eye contact before turning away, "Zevran, Morrigan, come with us." Ualan huffed and she patted him on the head. "You too."

"To the end, dear Warden."

Alistair closed his eyes as the echo of the archdemon's cry shook the city. Neria was visibly shaken and put a hand to her bosom. They looked at each other and were about to go when Wynne stopped the elf.

"Let me come with you."

Neria shook her head, "Stay here and protect the rest. You can keep many from dying. Besides, my creationism is nearly as good as yours, we shall be fine."

"And what if something happens to you? What then?" Wynne asked, furrowing her brow.

"Ser Perth, lead your men with us. Dulin, make for Fort Drakon - we will meet you there." The Marshalls nodded as Neria referenced a small leather map she held. "Mithra, to the Alienage.

"Stand strong," Neria said, loud enough for those present to hear. "We shall make our victory!"

* * *

There. She felt it stab within. Neria met Alistair's eyes before they advanced on the peculiar emissary. Its bellow shook the air as the hurlocks around it drew their bows. Deflecting a good portion of the shots with his shield, Alistair battered the General, and a flash of magical energy threw him back.

Neria scarce heard his cry as he flagged her back, and seeing him move, the mage cursed and sprinted farther. She clattered through a group of Dalish archers, just as the nimbus of white light flashed from his body, felling the darkspawn around him and leaving the General emissary reeling.

An archer helped her up, and Neria offered thanks before stabbing her sword in its sheath and enveloping the advancing darkspawn in a vortex of ice. Ualan snarled and battered into a frozen genlock, cracking through the ice and ripping off a limb.

Nearby, Morrigan leaned against the ramparts and downed a lyrium vial, cursing Alistair under her breath. Staring him down as he slashed and jutted amidst the clot of darkspawn, the tempest rose at her command, lightning dancing up from the ground to entwine limbs and bodies. Alistair twitched, and she smirked before turning her staff on a nearby genlock archer.

Drawn to the General by the knot in her chest, Neria slashed through the hurlocks around it, golden-specked and fortified by the Fade. She saw Zevran crumple from a crushing prison, and her sword crackled with light as she cleanly sliced open the emissary's neck.

The knot loosed like a blossoming flower, only to be met by a sudden screech piercing the air. Dalish arrows flew around her, pegging the shrieks that broke out from the drainage system. Soon the street was littered with bodies, their blackened, cold blood seeping into the ground.

"Maker preserve us, you did it!"

Neria turned as she saw Shianni run up, throwing her arms around the elven mage.

"We can never thank you for this."

"Get yourself and everyone to safety, this is not over yet." Neria said, pointing off the hilt of her sword at the Dalish as they made to follow, "Stay here and protect the quarter! Kill any darkspawn and burn them. Burn them all!"

"Yes, Warden!" The flurry of replies came as a lieutenant turned and directed the elves away.

Neria steadied herself from the surrounding sounds of fire, from the scream in her mind that almost seemed a song, and drew the ethers to heal her companions. They limped up to their feet, following her as she strode across the bridge. The Generals were dead - they made for Fort Drakon.

The sky ripped with the scream, the sound echoing within as much as without, nearly hobbling Neria and Alistair. Standing bold-faced, Morrigan fell back against the gate as the archdemon swooped over the alienage. The indigo fire that erupted from its mouth set the roofs along the rampart alight, before a dark core rocketed and smashed into the bridge.

Neria fell back, her only recourse. It could sense them, but could it see? The beat of wings - it was just like her dream, pressing her down as the dragon lifted, swirling back over the city with a nimble twist. There was a cold sweat under her collar, her pulse distorted by its presence. Recovering somehow, she pulled to her feet, and Ualan whimpered as she hauled open the gate and led them deeper into the city.

* * *

Dulin yelled at his men as they tried to fortify the door against the crush of darkspawn coming to their master's call. Another barrage shook the door, and they buckled as the door split.

"Regroup!" he cried, glancing to where the Wardens dodged the indigo fire.

Her sword lost somewhere amidst the bodies, Neria sprinted through the searing heat, collapsing behind a ballista as she gasped for breath. The air was blessedly cool, freed from the archdemon's fiery vortex. Fumbling with one of her last lyrium vials, she downed the thick liquid, feeling it hum through her mind. She had drank so much, she needed to get to Morrigan - the witch had more.

The ground undulated at her feet, swirling red and drawing life to her, and Neria briefly closed her eyes. Trembling from the lyrium rush, she was up on her feet again and unslung her stave. She saw Morrigan nearby, prostrate against a clump of fallen darkspawn.

She couldn't die - if she died -

The end of her staff twirling overhead, Neria felt the rush through her core as she clipped the needed words, and the glowing blue ward appeared over the fallen woman. The hush of sound was lost as the archdemon roared again, spinning to swipe Alistair and Ualan out of the way.

Eyes heavy and hair singed, Zevran darted to stab deep into the dragon's back thigh. Dark blood spilt, frigid and biting at the same time, and the archdemon snarled, whipping to kick him out of the way. Using its distraction, Neria painted up its wing with ice, and the beast roared, the sudden flap shattering the delicate skin and further hampering it.

The archdemon tracked the mage, and he whipped his head, corrupt fire spewing and tumbling toward her. Neria crashed as she was immolated, the incoherent mash of song in her ears as she scrambled, gasping for air. The tower shook as the dragon stalked after her.

The beast's growled as Alistair launched at its legs, shouting to draw its attention down. He planted his legs as claws battered his shield, crouching to keep from harm. Fire lit around him, rich indigo and black, and it sucked the life from him, licking through his armour like it were paper.

Across the tower, the dwarves battled the onslaught of darkspawn without fail, when a hurlock amidst them exploded, sending them flying. Cursing the stone, Dulin clamoured back to his feet, scrambling for his sword to carve up a shriek that fell on him. Then the archdemon lifted, mutilated wings sputtering to leap across the the tower, and when it landed, dwarf and darkspawn alike were crushed, ground into the stone underfoot.

A ballista nearby snapped, loaded by a trio of Redcliffe knights, and the bolt embedded itself in the dragon's ribcage. Snarling, it whipped around, sweeping its tail through the warriors, and a pillar of dark energy smote the giant crossbow. The stonework fractured away, and the men screamed as they were thrown off the edge.

Morrigan and Neria lifted their hands to the sky, calling down the elements to entwine the archdemon in lightning and ice. Its forearm froze to the ground, and it snapped up Ualan as the mabari attacked, shaking its head to break the dog with a sickening crack. Another bolt flew and buried into the dragon's neck, and it gnashed loudly, spitting fire.

Alistair swiped through the archdemon's chest, the scales slicing away like petals, and flowing further he jabbed his sword deep. The dragon reared, the ice on its leg fracturing as it fluttered, and he was pulled up into the air with a cry. Tightening his grip, he forced his eyes open, his shield dropping away as he clamoured to find purchase.

Snagging a hobbled scale, Alistair ripped his sword free, tearing a wide gash that spilt the acidic blood. Hissing, the archdemon thrashed again, its good-wing suddenly immolated in bright flames. The leather skin charred and holes burnt as it twirled, and Alistair buried his sword to the hilt once more. When the dragon shook again, the blade cut down, and he was knocked away by a headshake. He fell and slammed into the ground.

Another blade cut up the archdemon's flank, and it staggered, only to be hit by a summoned boulder. Trembling, Neria broke open another lyrium, downing half the bottle before she was knocked aside by an errant limb. The phial shattered and the dragon screamed again, so familiar, an intense memory from her dreams, and the archdemon stumbled as it turned for her. A bright glow cohered between her hands, and the vortex of cold enveloped the beast.

The forelimb snapped, frozen solid, and the archdemon floundered under its injuries. Its head whipped aside, snagging another dwarf to throw and knocking Alistair back to the ground as it snarled.

Gasping at the tension in her chest, Neria saw the beast weaken and staggered forward. It was only as she snagged the claymore from a fallen hurlock that she gained some grace and broke into a near run. Her muscles strained, bolstered by will, and she screamed as she heaved it up.

Unwavering, the blade sliced through the exposed throat of the archdemon, bathing her in the searching ichors of its blood. Its scream filled her world, an imprinting, burning presence blocking all else out. The tendons and muscles snapped, cleanly severed, and the head flopped to the ground.

She could not hear the darkspawn horde. She could not hear the clatter of metal and the screams of pain as men died around her. She could not hear Alistair over the roar that vibrated in her veins. Neria spun and sunk the claymore into the crest of the archdemon's head - and the world came alight.

Barely on his feet, Alistair raised an arm at the pillar of light that shot to the sky. Through his fingers, the silhouette of his elven mage clung to the buried sword. He struggled to keep his balance, grimacing at Zevran as the waves of energy buffeted them back.

Unable to breath, Neria rent the sword sideways, gouging out the skull. The bathing howl cut away, the burst as the Old God was ripped from its body shattering the skyward climbing light and sending a shockwave out from the tower of Fort Drakon.

Down in the battered streets, the soldiers, elves, mages, and dwarves faltered, eyes to the surreal visage in the sky. It was a beacon in the blighted heavens. Then, as the darkspawn turned, their triumphant, pursuing cry rose up.


	33. And Then It Was Over

Blinking in a shuddering breath, Alistair opened his eyes, the sky a little less dreary. Even if his body and lungs screamed, ravaged and torn, he was alive. Maker's breath, somehow he could still see and breath.

Breathing was good. And seeing sky. The only thing missing from a good long nap -

Neria.

Groaning as he moved, Alistair forced himself up to take stock of his surroundings. How long had he been out? Morrigan was gone. That fast. Why didn't he feel more relieved? Zevran roused himself from amidst a pile of hurlocks, standing in a sea of the dead and battered.

 _Neria._

Alistair's chest constricted as he saw her pale, slender body in the pool of blood. The sword still stuck out of the archdemon's skull.

"No..." Zevran croaked.

The sounds of the rousing army, the clatter of his own fullplate, of the victorious cries in the distance, they all faded into the rush of his pulse as Alistair clamoured to his fellow Grey Warden's side.

He had done it, he had lain with the witch - for her, for them! Just as Neria had made Anora Queen. For them...

The blood soaked into her white hair and caked her elven armour. There was a peaceful quality to her features that stabbed deep as Alistair knelt.

"Maker..." he choked, touching her cheek with his gauntleted hand. Frustrated, he tore it off and touched her clammy skin. "This wasn't supposed to happen..."

"She's alive - just barely. She needs a healer." Zevran's voice cut in, and he kept hold of Neria's slender wrist. "Where is Morrigan?"

"She is gone..." Shaking off his other gauntlet, Alistair took Neria in his arms, and the archdemon's blood dripped from her as he stood. He cradled her to his body, supporting her head on his arm. He whistled sharply, turning around.

"Brasca. Of course when we need her."

"Ualan! Come!" The sickness cloying his stomach twisted a note sourer. Alistair called again.

"Go, I will look."

Alistair nodded, hobbling towards the door. "I'm here, Neria," he whispered as a breath choked in his throat. "We did it. You did it." The dwarves that had survived parted, their raised, victorious voices hushing as he approached. He didn't notice as they bowed their heads.

Zevran jogged up and Alistair paused. Clutching the braided, spiked collar, the Antivan could only shake his head.

* * *

The rife tension that had choked his breath for months had lifted, but it didn't take with it the sickly worry. Alistair sat in a chair by the window. He felt useless. Wynne had all but barred him in the room, chiding him like a mother hen to stay by Neria's side - but outside Denerim still burned, the bodies of darkspawn and soldier alike piled everywhere. He had lost track of the days since he had carried her out of the fort. Since the light had swept over the city and shattered the cohesion of the horde. She was alive, but seemed in sleep, frail and empty in the large bed nearby.

Alistair put the book face down on the arm of the chair and leaned forward into his hands. Wynne - none of the healers - knew when she would wake. If she would wake. They didn't say it, but he knew they were thinking it. Trapped in the castle while the rest of their army and companions swept the streets, he could do little more than dwell on everything that had happened. They had done it - they had defeated the Blight, no matter the cost.

The city was near in ruins - Queen Anora held hope, but the land was still swarmed with darkspawn. He wanted nothing more than to fight. He didn't want to sit here thinking about the last night in Redcliffe. About the last woman who touched him.

There was a knock at the door before it creaked open, and Zevran walked in. He ran his hands through his damp blond hair. "How is she?"

"No change," Alistair whispered, sitting up as he rubbed his stubble.

Expression hard, Zevran crossed his arms and stood by the window. "I found Leiliana."

Alistair closed his eyes and leant back in the chair, "I don't know what to do."

"She needs you here."

"Does she? What would you do, Zevran? How could you stand sitting here?"

"You would prefer to be finding the bodies of our friends in the city?"

Alistair made a choked sound, hand over his face again, "Maker... Leiliana?"

"Yes," Zevran quietly said, and crossed his arms. It was a moment before he said, "That mage Neria knew - Roma, Romel - has finished collecting and preserving the archdemon's blood. It is locked in the treasury."

"Thank you," Alistair quietly said, looking at his feet through his hands.

Zevran sat on the windowsill, glancing from the other man to the bed. "What is the word?"

"The healers have been busy - understandably so, I mean. Wynne... Wynne was here this morning. She helped me feed her." Alistair lifted his head, face drawn. "I should be happy, shouldn't I? All these months, it's over."

Out the window, the pyres created charcoal scratches across the sky, the evening light heightened into oranges and reds by the smoke. Zevran crossed his arms and his ankles, "Perhaps."

"I should be out there -"

A deep whimper came from the bed, and they were both on their feet as Neria moved. Trembling, she pulled at the covers and Alistair reached for her, his voice caught in his throat, "Neria?"

Her eyes hazy with a lyrium infused glow, Neria lethargically opened her eyes. The world came into a slow focus, too bright, and there was a throbbing at her temples.

"It is good to see you open your eyes, dear Warden," Zevran's worry fled as he grinned. "You had Alistair quite frightened that I would have to step in and take your place in his bed."

"Wh - what?"

Pale as the Frostbacks, an odd grin flitted over Neria's face, blinking lengthily as the world tilted. Licking her lips, she whispered, "Where..."

"At the palace," Alistair knelt beside the bed, exhaling and flattening his hand as she put her fingers over it. "Arl Eamon's estate suffered pretty heavily."

"As did the whole city," Zevran added, "But it still stands. And you ended the Blight."

Expression sagging, Neria blinked before she squirmed and pulled herself up in the bed. Her pupils were widely dilated, and she looked away from the open window. "Where is Wynne."

"Helping in the streets. The horde has been pushed back from the city, but there are many wounded."

"I see," Neria whispered, trembling again as she pressed her head back into the pillow.

Glancing between them, Zevran righted his posture, "I shall leave you. There is a party assembling to sweep the alienage."

"Th-thank you, Zev."

Eyes briefly softening, the Antivan inclined his head and said, "I am glad to see you wake. The army will be pleased to hear their General has pulled through."

Neria kept moving in little stints, a restlessness growing as she made a sound. Finally, Alistair reached for her hand, overcoming some barrier. She almost laughed, the sound a succession of huffs as she settled and looked at him.

"Is it bad?"

Closing her blue-tinged eyes, Neria tempered her breathing, "I don't know. I don't know. You don't have any?"

Alistair sighed, letting go of her fingers as he rose and strayed from the bedside. He retrieved a small phial from the bureau, turning it in his fingers before returning and dropping it on the bedside. It was barely half a dose. She didn't need to know there were more.

Eyes darting before she snagged the vial, Neria slumped back into the bed. "Are you alright?"

Alistair fiddled with something on the bureau, out of her sight, his head down. There were the muffled sounds of movement through the window, life surging onward in the greater world. "I should be, shouldn't I?"

Looking at the vial in her grasp, Neria's hand lightly shook. Her tongue felt thick and parched, and in second she flipped the cork with her thumb. "Will we ever be?"

Laughing once, emptily, Alistair turned, dragging a collar off the bureau before sitting beside Neria. "Drink it," he softly said, laying the studded adornment on her thigh as she tilted the lyrium back.

Blinking too many times, Neria licked the lingering fluid from her lips as she touched Ualan's collar. She softly asked, "Alistair..."

"Maybe I should wait. But I doubt you want me to soften anything - ever," Alistair's voice softly cracked. "He - he's gone. As is Leiliana. And not gone like Morrigan."

Her gaunt cheeks deepend as Neria's mouth fell open, and the phial fell off the bed as she moved. Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, head hanging down as she knotted her fingers around the collar. There were no tears anymore.

"But we're not, right?" Alistair asked, staring into his lap. "That should help, right? Why doesn't it help?"

The lyrium sung in Neria's veins, contrasting so sharply with the heaviness in her limbs. Her mind finally brought forth the last moments, the dancing whispers and visions in the wake of the archdemon. The disconnect, the promises, the attempts as she drifted through the Fade. Her breath stuttered as she pushed the covers back, limbs loathe to move. Kneeling on the bed, she wrapped her arms around Alistair, her lips in his hair as she leant against his back.

He reached aside to snag the collar again, turning it in his fingers. "It should feel better than this."

* * *

The applause rose as the pursuivant announced the Hero of Ferelden, and offering a politic smile, Warden Neria raised a hand to the nobility of Denerim. Clad in formal Circle robes and unarmed, her slender and war-formed physique was shown-off. She arrived on the arm of Bann Teagan, who dipped to kiss her hand before dismissing her to her awaiting public.

With the lands around the city freed of darkspawn and the dead purified by Andraste's flame, Denerim had erupted into celebration at the behest of her Queen. Repair had become economic stimuli for refugees and stranded landholders, the camp beyond the city walls heavily decimated in the attack. There were straggling bands the army still pursued, but Queen Anora had bid her General to stay.

The Circle was granted its independence, and the Grey Wardens were ceded the Arl of Amaranthine to rebuild and cement their hold in Ferelden. The dwarves marched back to Orzammar, and the Dalish disappeared into the forest, the lands battered in the wake of the horde. There was no denying the toll exacted, but it was midsummer, the sun was warm, and most of all, there was hope and a future to be had.

Drifting from person to person, Neria accepted the embraces and handshakes with slow care, doing her best to maintain a smile. It had been a long day in public, and despite the weeks since the fall, she still felt frail. Finally someone snagged her elbow, steeling her away and a goblet appeared in her hand.

"I thought you could use a drink."

"Maker, Zev, thank you," she whispered, smiling to lift the glass to someone who looked. "I cannot take much more."

"A pity I have not had to kill anyone setting their sights on you?"

"Have faith? It's a matter of time."

The Antivan tsked, making eyes at a templar along the wall. "It will be them, just you see. I have heard a great deal about what you have done for the Circle."

"They will not overstep their bounds," Neria murmured, drinking most of the wine in her goblet. She smacked her lips, shaking her hair back over her shoulder. "You know, I think you look better in your leathers."

Thumbing the collar of his Antivan-styled garments, Zevran flashed her a smile and said, "Mm, trust me, I look better still without."

Smiling a sigh, Neria shook her head and traded glasses with him, "I'll take that thank you. Mm? It's fuller." She drifted along the edge of the crowed, stopping to squeeze Wynne and meet more one who had fought in the siege and defended the city.

Across the crowds she saw a familiar face slip onto the balcony. It was where she had been presented to the citizens of Denerim - where the queen had reiterated her place as General of the armies and the Hero of Ferelden. Taking the first opportunity, she hurried out after him into the warm night.

Alistair was standing in light armour that the Grand Cleric had gifted him. It was more showy than practical, and - polished to a shine - perfectly suited the evening. When he turned, she could see the subdued templar insignia down the chest of the plate. "Finally escaped?"

"Yes. I am not sure how long I can get away."

"Better you than me," he said, "Who knows how many toes I already stepped on, clunking through there."

Neria weakly smiled, "Only a few I'm sure."

"Thanks."

"Anytime," Neria said, leaning into him briefly. "I'd much rather be alone with you somewhere. Like a tent."

"The beds no good for you?" He grinned lopsided, glancing to the door before slipping an arm round her.

"I'm not sure it feels right if we're not sweaty and covered in dry blood…"

"So very romantic," Alistair smirked, following her eyes out over the city. "We make such a sweet couple."

Neria's expression relaxed, eyes lazy as she looked at him and leant her hip on the balcony. His hair was getting long.

"What? Is there something on my face? Maker, it was that pastry Teagan made me eat isn't it…"

Shaking her head, Neria looked away, softly saying, "No, you're fine. More than fine."

Alistair avoided her eyes, finally putting his hand over hers on the balcony. The soft leather palm of the gauntlet let him conform his fingers to her slender digits.

"I know we haven't spoken of… it. I just – I hope… I hope you don't regret it." Neria tucked her chin down as his hand moved.

"I don't think that can be part of it," Alistair's voice was raw and subdued. "I look at us – here we are, both alive when the archdemon is dead, when…"

Neria reached for him and leant back against the banister as her fingers traced down his cheeks. He made a soft sound, tracing a hand around her waist to rest it on the stone as he leant into her and softly kissed her.

"You are the only thing I wanted for me. The one selfish thing I'll take. I love you, Neria." The elf's expression cracked, and she rapidly blinked as she looked away. Alistair lifted her chin. "Hey, hey – we've made it through the bad stuff, right? Anora is queen, there is just us now. Even the Blight has all but faded." He cupped her cheek. "Let's not think about… what we had to sacrifice to get here. We did our duty. Don't we get a happy ending or something?"

"I'm about as vilified a combination as you can get, Alistair," Neria dryly laughed, her pale eyes turning up to him.

"And I, of course, am your templar-trained guard. Who can question you?" Alistair slowly grinned. "You killed the archdemon. You're a hero – no, you're The Hero."

"We are still Grey Wardens."

Inhaling, he replied, "We are – but I think I can handle that. And I think we've earned a bit of a break, don't you?"

Before Neria could reply, Alistair kissed her again, lips departing from their previous chastity. He tasted clean – no sweat, no grime or badly stewed rabbit. There was just him.

"I don't suppose you really want to go back into the party," Alistair whispered, knocking the end of his nose with hers.

Neria grinned and breathed back, "I think we could escape if we tried. We've gotten out of more dire situations."

"Right you are," he grinned, and they both laughed as he took her hand.

Turning from the door, Zevran wove through the crowd, snagged by Bann Teagan as he made to leave.

"Have you seen Neria? Many have been asking about her."

Relinquishing his goblet to a servant that passed, Zevran offered an apologetic grin as he said, "I am afraid our dear Warden has taken to bed. The wine went to her head."


	34. Epilogue

"Maker's balls," Neria muttered, stumbling as Zevran flowed and kicked her.

"Not quite," the Antivan replied with a grin, darting to glance blows with her again. "Would it mean much if I said you were improving?"

"I don't know," she murmured, groaning as he caught her again with the wooden dagger, and she limped briefly at the cramp and swore under her breath.

"You become so colourful when you spar, _tesaro_."

"Gee thanks," Neria swung the waster and deflected his attack, rounding about the slash across Zevran's arm. "I should just burn you to the ground."

"Such camaraderie."

"Yes, I am all about being friendly," she panted, waving him away as she stabbed the waster into the ground. As if the morning spent with the Warden lieutenant from Val Royeaux had not been trying enough, she was getting her backside handed to her. "How did you not kill me?"

"Boh," Zevran grinned and gave a shrug.

Some of the Wardens shifted from where they leant against the wall. They'd come from abroad on the heels of the darkspawn, following the legend of her survival. After a few more days in the capital, they would turn to Amaranthine.

Neria picked up the skein of water she'd left on one of the shelves in the underground sparring quarters, drinking a fair bit before she noticed the elven man waiting for her. Wiping the loose strands of hair from her face, she looked at him. "Elyon, isn't it?"

"Oui, ah - yes."

Raising a brow, Neria pointed through the door, and the elf kept on her heels as she walked into the common room. They had been working to restore the Denerim compound for some months. "What can I help you with, brother?"

"Alistair, he was looking for you."

"Has he finished with Leonie?"

"Yes," he nodded, skirting back as Neria kept walking.

Passing by Leonie Caron in the tight quarters, the senior Warden clapped arms with Neria. She had bright hazel eyes and a stern jaw. "It is good to have had this time, _ma soeur_. I hope you will take the orders I brought. We do understand, ah, your considerations."

"Do you depart soon then?"

" _En effet_ , by month's end at the latest." The Orlesian's expression was difficult to read. "Speak with your companion, and I will find you both at the evening meal."

Turning into the office they shared, Neria found Alistair sitting by the fire like a lost puppy. He was fingering a scroll, the Warden's seal on it broken.

"That does not look good," she softly said, still a little out of breath.

Alistair extended the scroll to her, and Neria stepped to take it, turning towards the fire to read by its light.

"I – I'm going to Weisshaupt," he emptily said, wringing his hands in the absence of the parchment.

"Sounds like an adventure for us, alright," Neria grinned, though the expression faded as she finished the written orders. "They want just you?"

"They need you as Warden Commander. Ferelden would never accept Caron – can you imagine an Orlesian trying to lead an arling? A city? It would cause so many problems."

Neria tossed the parchment down on the nearby table, "And I can always go when we return. If – if I become the Commander, wouldn't I outrank all of you? I could dictate to come with you, my hand on the mandate..."

Alistair stood up, "We're the only wardens that our country knows, Neria. They know the Wardens need to ride on the laurels of your being the Hero of Ferelden." He ran a hand through his hair, creasing his brow, "Amaranthine needs you, I know that. I can't be selfish."

"Can't you be?" Neria stepped up and kissed him, but Alistair stopped her arms.

"We've been selfish enough," he rest his forehead against hers, sighing. "I promise I'll come back to you. This – this is to protect us. They want answers as to why we are alive. And I'm a lot better at acting dumb than you are."

"Oh, it's acting?" Neria ducked as he nipped at her neck, her grin fading as she looked down and whispered, "It'll be months."

"I know. Leonie is returning with me."

"You make it sound like you're running off with her," Neria opened her eyes and saw his smirk.

"Have you heard that accent? Besides, she's no elf," Alistair said, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head.

"There is talk of organized darkspawn bands in the north. The – the Queen also asked me to consider the command position," Neria rubbed her forehead, content in his arms. "I'll see if Zev will come with me."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"Well, you have your foreign femme, seems only reasonable that I take a sexy signore with me," Neria poked his side.

"Hmm."

Snagging his neck, Neria pulled Alistair down into her lips, impetuously kissing him with sudden passion. Their lips parted, tasting one another, and as she pulled back she sucked a breath. Eyes closed, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "Come back to me. Maker, swear you'll come back to me."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who's stuck it out and read this novel of a story - and who's supported me along the way! It's more than twice as long as anything else I've ever written - and I'm still going!
> 
> The sequel to Veneficus is well under way - The Mage & the Mother.
> 
> Set within the plot of Dragon Age: Awakening, Neria assumes command of Vigil's Keep, weathered by the war but without her partner to find solace in. Alistair is sent abroad in the company of Lt. Leonie Caron, the Orlesian Warden, and must find a way to rationalize their survival when he faces the First Warden.


End file.
